With  the 
Best  Intention 


OF  CALIF.   LIBRARY,   LOS  ANGELAS 


While  the  young  couple  were   welcoming  the  rabbi,  Lapidowitz 
swooped  down  upon  the  refreshment  table 


With  the 

Best  Intention 


By 

Bruno  Lessing 


With  Illustrations  by 
M.  Leone  Bracker 


New  York 

Hearst's  International  Library  Co. 
1914 


Copyright,  191S.  1014.  by 
INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  Co. 

Copyright,  1914,  by 
HEARST'S  INTERNATIONAL  LIURARY  Co.,  INC. 


All  rights  reserved,  including  the   translation  into  foreign 
languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Schnorrer  's  Arrival  .     ...     ...  11 

II  An  Apple  Wasted      ........  31 

III  Lapidowitz's  List 47 

IV  "From  Him  That  Hath  Not"  .     ...  61 
V    Lapidowitz  Lapses 77 

VI    Love  Me  Love  My  Dog 89 

VII  Love's  Young  Dream     ......  113 

VIII    Just  as  It  Happened 136 

IX     The  Interrupted  Wedding 161 

X    A  Night  of  Horrors 186 

XI    Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek 209 

XII     Knight  Takes  Queen 229 

XIII  Klein's  Financial  System 255 

XIV  Bimberg's  Night  Off 279 

XV    Lapidowitz's  Partner 300 

XVI  "Ich  Gebibble"   .                                       .  326 


2131037 


Illustrations 

While  the  young  couple  were  welcom- 
ing the  rabbi,  Lapidowitz  swooped 
down  upon  the  refreshment  table  .  Frontispiece 

TACINQ 
PAQB 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  was  a  tall,  lank 
figure,  frock  coated  and  bearded,  waiting 
with  the  patience  of  Job 46 

' '  I  haf  come  from  Mister  Lubarsky.  Ve  are  great 
friends,  unt  he  is  so  anxious  to  get  married 
vit'you" 52 

' '  Here  iss  der  key  uf  my  room.  Vait  till  der  dog 
comes  out.  Take  him  to  my  room,  und  I  gif 
you  a  quarter" 116 

Lapidowitz  held  aloft  his  slate.  Solly  read: 
' '  The  $5  I  ast  you  for  I  need  bad.  Kant  you 
slip  it  in  my  hand?" 246 

It  was  a  pair  of  twos.  "That  looks  easy,"  said 
his  opponent,  and  calmly  threw  a  pair  of 
threes 260 

And  then  came   Friday,   the   gala  day  of  the 

Ghetto,  and  business  poured  in  with  a  rush  .  314 

As  soon  as  Lapidowitz  had  been  arrayed  in  his 
new  silk  hat  and  borrowed  coat,  Bernstein 
took  him  to  call  upon  the  widow  .  .  .  332 


With  the 
Best  Intention 


With  the  Best  Intention 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival 

IT  was  wonderful  how  quietly  the  United 
States  of  America  took  the  arrival  of 
Moishe  Gordonsky.  No  bells  rang,  no  whistles 
blew,  and  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  hap- 
pened; that  is,  nothing  save  the  arrival  of 
Moishe  Gordonsky.  He  could  not  understand 
it.  That  so  epoch-making  an  event  should  pass 
unnoticed  seemed  inexplicable  to  Moishe  be- 
cause, to  him,  this  event  meant  the  uprooting 
of  the  world,  the  changing  of  the  entire  solar 
system.  Not  that  Moishe  knew  anything  about 
either  the  world  or  the  solar  system ;  but  noth- 
ing short  of  such  an  upheaval  could  adequately 
compare  with  his  idea  of  the  change  in  the  ex- 
isting order  of  things. 
Moishe  Gordonsky  was  eleven  years  old  when 

he   arrived.    He   came   with   his   father   and! 

11 


12  With  the  Best  Intention 

mother  and  Chaim  Lapidowitz,  the  schnorrer, 
from  a  tiny  town  in  Lithuania,  beyond  the  hori- 
zon of  which  his  imagination  had  never  before 
strayed.  And  now,  here  he  was  in  the  land 
of  liberty  and  gold,  the  world  rosy  before  him, 
the  dreary  past  forever  removed  from  his  life ; 
and  no  one  seemed  to  take  the  slightest  account 
of  it.  Moishe  was  disappointed. 

Throughout  the  voyage  Lapidowitz  had  re- 
galed him  with  wonderful  accounts  of  this  new 
land.  Lapidowitz  himself  had  never  travelled 
beyond  the  confines  of  his  native  village  before, 
but  he  possessed  a  lively  imagination  and  an 
amazing  disregard  for  facts. 

"It  is  a  land  of  liberty  and  gold!"  he  said, 
time  and  time  again.  "You  can  find  money 
everywhere — all  you  want.  And  you're  free." 

Strange  to  say,  the  idea  of  liberty  appealed 
to  Moishe  even  more  than  the  idea  of  boundless 
gold.  He  was  too  young  to  love  money,  but 
he  had  already  suffered  from  oppression.  But 
now  he  was  free  I  The  dread  monster  of  au- 
thority would  oppress  him  no  more.  And  gold 
was  everywhere,  too,  the  schnorrer  had  said. 

A  schnorrer,  if  you  have  never  met  one,  is  a 
member  of  a  Jewish  community  who  lives  by 
his  wits,  never  works  if  he  can  help  it,  knows 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  13 

every  line  of  the  Torah  and  Talmud  that  can 
possibly  be  used  as  an  appeal  for  charity,  eats, 
drinks,  wears,  and  smokes  anything  that  is  given 
to  him,  and  is  usually  quite  amiable.  During 
most  of  his  life  Lapidowitz  had  begged  and 
borrowed  with  strict  impartiality  from  all  his 
co-religionists  in  his  native  town,  but,  for 
nearly  a  year  now,  he  had  rather  favoured  Gor- 
donsky.  Gordonsky  was  good-hearted  and  gave 
gladly.  He  looked  upon  Lapidowitz  as  a  cheer- 
ful good-for-nothing  whom  it  was  easier  to 
feed  than  reform.  And  when,  during  the  riots, 
it  happened  that  the  schnorrer  appeared  in  Gor- 
donsky's  store  in  time  to  save  Mrs.  Gordon- 
sky  and  Moishe  from  the  fury  of  the  mob,  Gor- 
donsky  was  content  to  take  care  of  Lapidowitz 
to  the  end  of  his  days.  But  the  pillage  of  his 
store  almost  ruined  him.  There  was  barely 
enough  money  left  to  pay  passage  for  his  fam- 
ily to  New  York  and  to  support  them  for  a 
month  or  two  while  he  found  employment.  And 
when  the  schnorrer  begged  to  be  taken  along 
Gordonsky  could  not  refuse. 

At  Castle  Garden — this  was  before  the  day 
when  immigrants  began  to  land  at  Ellis  Island 
— they  were  met  by  the  Babbi  Zoline,  head  of 
the  Lithuanian  synagogue  in  New  York  to 


14  With  the  Best  Intention 

which  most  of  Gordonsky's  fellow  townsmen 
here  belonged.  He  gathered  together  about 
forty  prospective  members  of  his  congregation 
and  helped  them  through  the  routine  of  govern- 
mental inspection. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "the  first  thing  you  ought 
to  do  is  to  change  all  your  Russian  money  for 
American  money." 

Lapidowitz,  the  schnorrer,  drew  a  handful 
of  money  from  his  pocket. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  money?"  cried  Gor- 
donsky  in  amazement.  "I  thought  you  didn't 
have  anything!" 

"I  saved  it,"  said  the  schnorrer  sheepishly. 
"It  was  in  case  I  got  sick." 

"And  I  kept  giving  you  money,  thinking  you 
were  poor!  You're  a  gonof  (thief).  How 
much  have  you?" 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  rubles,"  said  the 
schnorrer.  The  sum  was  equivalent  to  about 
seventy-six  dollars. 

"Such  a  gonof!"  said  Gordonsky.  "How 
could  you  be  such  a  liar?" 

"I  wanted  to  surprise  you,"  said  Lapidowitz, 
quite  crestfallen.  "Maybe  if  there  is  a  chance 
I  go  into  business  with  you,  and  then  we  have 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  15 

capital.  That  is,"  he  added  quickly,  "if  you 
put  in  as  much." 

"With  a  gonof  I  never  go  into  partnership," 
said  Gordonsky. 

When  all  the  immigrants  had  exchanged  their 
money  Rabbi  Zoline  formed  them  into  a  strag- 
gling procession  and  led  them  in  the  direction 
of  the  wilderness  of  tenements  on  the  East 
Side  that  was  henceforth  to  be  their  home. 
Lapidowitz  walked  beside  the  rabbi  at  the  head 
of  the  procession,  with  Gordonsky  close  behind, 
grumbling  at  the  schnorrer's  perfidy. 

The  schnorrer,  calmly  indifferent  to  his  bene- 
factor's reproaches,  was  entirely  absorbed  in 
contemplating  the  Eabbi  Zoline.  The  silk  hat, 
the  imposing  frock  coat,  and  the  whole  self- 
possessed  bearing  of  the  man  fascinated  the 
schnorrer.  The  gorgeous  purple  tie,  the  heavy, 
glittering  watch-chain,  and  the  gold-headed 
cane  that  he  carried  filled  Lapidowitz  with  ad- 
miration. It  was  all  in  such  sharp  contrast  to 
the  slinking,  ill-clad  figures  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  in  his  Lithuanian  Ghetto  that  the 
rabbi  symbolised  to  him  the  whole  spirit  of 
liberty  and  wealth  of  this  new  land. 

Moishe,  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the  pavement, 


16  With  the  Best  Intention 

brought  up  the  rear  of  the  procession.  He  was 
looking  for  money.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  cry. 
A  silver  coin  lay  on  the  walk  before  him.  The 
schnorrer  had  spoken  the  truth.  Moishe 
eagerly  seized  the  coin,  but,  even  before  he 
could  pocket  it,  his  eyes  fell  upon  another  and 
then  another  and  another  and  another  as  though 
it  had  rained  money  that  day — silver  money  of 
all  denominations  until  his  pockets  were  nearly 
full.  A  shadow  fell  across  his  path,  and  he 
looked  up.  It  was  the  schnorrer. 

"Your  father  sent  me  to  find  you,"  he  said. 
"You'll  get  lost  if  you  fall  behind  like  that." 

"Look!"  cried  Moishe,  eagerly  displaying  a 
handful  of  the  money.  "I  found  all  this  in  the 
street." 

The  schnorrer 's  mouth  opened  wide.  "My, 
but  you  are  lucky,"  said  he.  "I  was  so  busy 
thinking  of  other  things  that  I  forgot  all  about 
the  money.  I  guess  I'll  look,  too." 

Then,  slowly,  they  walked  together,  the 
schnorrer  even  more  eager  than  the  boy.  They 
found  more  money,  and  the  schnorrer  shouted 
with  joy. 

"In  a  few  days  we'll  be  rich  men,  Moishe," 
said  he.  * ' Then  we'll  buy  a  horse  and  carriage, 
and  we'll  never  have  to  work  again." 


THe  Schnorrer's  Arrival  17 

Presently  the  schnorrer  stooped  and  picked 
up  a  roll  of  bills.  "Look,  Moishe!"  he  cried. 
"Paper  money,  too!  Only  I  don't  know  how 
much  it 's  worth.  I  '11  have  to  ask  the  rabbi. ' ' 

And  then,  it  seemed,  the  godsend  ceased. 
Search  as  they  might,  they  could  not  find  an- 
other cent.  Block  after  block  they  walked,  very 
slowly,  and  they  were  sure  they  had  not  over- 
looked a  single  square  inch  of  the  sidewalk. 
But  their  luck,  for  the  day,  was  at  an  end.  A 
policeman,  who  had  been  observing  the  two  for 
several  minutes,  approached  them. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked.  "Did  you 
lose  anything?" 

They  did  not  understand  a  word  he  said,  but 
Moishe  eagerly  explained  that  they  were  look- 
ing for  money.  The  policeman  shook  his  head. 

"I  guess  the  East  Side  is  the  place  you're 
looking  for,"  he  said.  Then  Moishe  suddenly 
became  aware  that  his  parents  and  the  rabbi 
and  the  rest  of  their  party  were  no  longer  in 
sight. 

"Let  us  hurry,"  he  said,  "or  we'll  get  lost." 

They  walked  as  rapidly  as  they  could,  even 
ran  at  times,  but  when  they  reached  Grand 
Street  they  realised  that  the  others  must  have 
turned  off  into  some  side  street,  for  they  were 


18  With  the  Best  Intention 

nowhere  to  he  seen.  The  policeman  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Grand  Street  and  Broadway,  however, 
was  accustomed  to  directing  newly  arrived  im- 
migrants. They  came  hy  his  post  nearly  every 
day ;  and  he  even  knew  a  few  words  of  Yiddish. 

"Straight  ahead,"  he  said,  pointing  down 
Grand  Street.  "Keep  straight  ahead,  and 
you'll  get  home." 

They  followed  his  direction,  and  in  a  little 
while  they  found  themselves  in  a  neighbourhood 
ablaze  with  lights  and  with  signs  bearing  He- 
brew characters  on  every  side.  And  here,  too, 
were  so  many  of  their  countrymen,  with  unmis- 
takable beards  and  ringlets  and  garments,  that 
they  both  felt  quite  at  home.  But  of  their 
party  there  was  no  sign.  In  front  of  a  cloth- 
ing-store the  schnorrer  suddenly  stopped. 

"Moishe,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "I 
have  a  great  idea.  It  will  be  some  time  before 
we  find  your  papa  and  mamma.  Let's  go  in 
here  and  spend  some  of  the  money  we  found. 
Let's  each  get  a  nice  American  suit  of  clothes, 
and  then  they'll  all  be  surprised  when  they 
see  us." 

Moishe  laughed  merrily  at  the  idea.  ' '  They 
won't  even  know  us  when  they  see  us,"  he  said. 
"We'll  pretend  we're  Americans  at  first." 


The  Schnorrer 's  Arrival  19 

The  proprietor  of  the  store  was  one  of  the 
chosen  people,  and  the  schnorrer  had  little  dif- 
ficulty in  making  himself  understood. 

"  You  look  like  an  honest  man,"  said  Lapido- 
witz.  "We  have  just  arrived  to-day  and  do  not 
know  the  right  styles.  I  trust  you  to  give  us 
only  the  very  best  clothes  that  are  worn  here." 

"My  customers, "  said  the  proprietor,  with 
an  air  of  injured  pride,  "are  the  best  people  in 
New  York." 

The  outfitting  of  Moishe  and  the  schnorrer 
did  not  take  long.  In  less  than  fifteen  minutes 
they  were  transformed  into  different  beings. 
Instead  of  looking  like  newly  arrived  immi- 
grants, they  looked  as  if  they  had  lived  in  Hes- 
ter Street  all  their  lives.  The  clothier  then  took 
them  to  a  friend  of  his  who  kept  a  hat-store 
across  the  street,  where  the  schnorrer  purchased 
a  silk-hat,  while  Moishe  became  the  possessor  of 
a  wonderful  derby  that  came  down  to  his  ears. 
Then,  each  with  a  bundle  containing  his  old 
clothes  under  his  arm,  they  set  forth  to  find 
their  party.  As  they  walked  down  the  street, 
the  schnorrer,  with  his  silk  hat  tilted  rakishly 
to  one  side,  tried  to  imitate,  as  closely  as  he 
could,  the  walk  and  manner  of  the  rabbi.  At 
every  store  window  that  was  dark  enough  to 


20  With  the  Best  Intention 

serve  the  purpose  of  a  mirror  he  paused  to  sur- 
vey himself,  and  the  view  filled  him  with  great 
satisfaction.  As  he  came  to  a  stop  before  one 
of  these  windows  near  a  corner  Moishe,  walking 
a  few  feet  ahead,  thought  he  saw  the  rabbi  and 
his  party  moving  down  a  side  street.  As 
swiftly  as  his  legs  could  carry  him  he  ran  after 
them,  only  to  find  that  it  was  another  rabbi — 
or  a  man  who  looked  exactly  like  a  rabbi — lead- 
ing a  wedding  party.  He  retraced  his  steps, 
looked  around  him  in  bewilderment,  and  after 
running  hither  and  thither  for  a  few  minutes 
realised  that  he  had  lost  his  companion.  And 
then  a  great  fear  took  hold  of  him.  All  thought 
of  liberty  and  gold  vanished  from  his  mind, 
and  he  was  only  a  little  boy  who  wanted  his 
father  and  his  mother.  Slowly  a  couple  of  tears 
rolled  down  his  cheeks,  followed  by  more  until, 
losing  all  his  dignity,  he  began  to  cry  out- 
right. 

When  a  boy  with  a  new  derby  hat  and  a 
bundle  under  his  arm  stands  still  and  cries  on 
the  East  Side,  even  to  this  day,  a  crowd  quickly 
gathers.  Moishe  was  soon  surrounded  by  an 
inquiring  group  to  whom,  between  sobs,  he  told 
his  story,  and  when  a  policeman  arrived  there 
were  a  dozen  to  translate  his  tale  of  woe. 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  21 

"He's  losted!  He's  a  greenhorn!  He  don't 
know  where  he  lives!"  they  cried. 

The  policeman  patted  Moishe  on  the  head  and 
with  a  cheerful  smile  beckoned  him  to  accom- 
pany him. 

"Don't  be  scared,"  the  crowd  cried.  "He'll 
take  you  to  headquarters.  They'll  send  out  an 
alarm.  You'll  find  your  folks  all  right." 

At  the  station  house  the  sergeant  who  sat  at 
the  desk  spoke  Yiddish. 

"Just  hang  round  here  a  little  while,"  he  said 
to  the  boy.  "Your  folks  will  probably  be  here 
looking  for  you.  If  they  don't  I'll  send  you  to 
headquarters.  Don't  be  afraid.  We'll  take 
good  care  of  you." 

Moishe  was  no  longer  afraid  and,  in  a  little 
while,  was  roaming  all  over  the  station  house. 
He  saw  a  great  many  policemen  in  uniform  sit- 
ting in  one  of  the  rooms,  and  at  the  foot  of 
a  flight  of  stairs  he  saw  a  row  of  cells.  Why, 
the  schnorrer  was  wrong !  It  was  a  country  of 
gold,  but  the  people  weren't  entirely  free — they 
had  men  in  uniform  over  them  just  as  in  Eussia. 

Moishe  proudly  showed  the  sergeant  the 
money  he  had  found. 

"In  the  street?"  cried  the  sergeant.  "Holy 
smoke,  but  you're  a  lucky  kid!  Let's  see  it 


22  With  the  Best  Intention 

Sure  enough,  it's  real  money.  I  ought  to  keep 
it  till  the  owner  shows  up,  but  I  guess  it's  safe 
with  you.  Finding  money  in  the  street!  Well, 
I'll  be  hanged!" 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  in  burst 
the  Rabbi  Zoline  with  Gordonsky  at  his  heels. 
"A  little  boy  got  lost,"  began  the  rabbi  excit- 
edly, when  the  sergeant  interrupted  him  by 
pointing  to  Moishe.  The  rabbi  was  about  to 
deny  that  this  was  the  lad  they  were  looking 
for  when  Moishe,  recognising  his  father,  flew 
into  his  arms.  But  even  Gordonsky  had  some 
doubts. 

"Is  it  my  Moishe?"  he  cried.  "Where  did 
you  get  all  those  fine  clothes?" 

"I  found  money  in  the  street,"  said  Moishe. 
"Look!  Nearly  a  whole  pocketful!  And  Mr. 
Lapidowitz  found  a  lot,  too.  He  found  paper 
money. ' ' 

"Where  is  Lapidowitz?"  asked  his  father. 

"I  don't  know.  We  got  separated  some- 
where." 

"Well,"  remarked  his  father,  "I  guess  he  is 
able  to  look  after  himself.  He's  a  very  smart 
man,  and  if  I  don't  ever  see  him  again  I  won't 
cry  about  it.  You'd  better  let  me  keep  your 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  23 

money  with  mine,  Moishe,  because  you  might 
lose  it."  ' 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to  take  out 
his  own  money,  paused,  turned  pale,  and  beads 
of  perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead.  He 
clutched  the  rabbi's  arm. 

1  *  My  money 's  gone ! "  he  cried.  * '  I  've  been 
robbed  I" 

"Where  did  you  keep  it?  Are  you  sure  you 
didn't  put  it  in  your  satchel?"  the  rabbi  asked. 

"Never  would  I  carry  money  in  a  bag. 
Look!  In  this  pocket  I  put  it.  Didn't  you  see 
me  do  it,  Moishe?" 

He  pulled  his  pocket  inside  out.  The  ser- 
geant, leaning  over  the  desk,  pointed  to  it. 

"Man  alive!"  he  exclaimed,  "you've  got  a 
hole  in  your  pocket  big  enough  for  a  house  to 
fall  through.  And — well,  I'll  be  jinked!  Ha! 
Ha!  Ha!  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!" 

They  all  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  and 
then,  slowly,  a  smile  crept  into  the  rabbi's  face. 
"Where  did  you  find  this  money,  Moishe?"  he 
asked. 

"In  the  street  when  I  was  walking  away  from 
the  place  where  we  got  off  the  ship. ' ' 

The  sergeant  continued  to  roar  with  laughter. 


24  Witli  the  Best  Intention 

The  rabbi  laid  his  hand  on  G-ordonsky's  shoul- 
der. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said  gently,  "your  son  and 
his  friend  picked  up  the  money  that  dropped 
out  of  your  pocket." 

"And  the  kid  thought  he  was  finding  money 
in  the  street!  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!"  cried  the  ser- 
geant. Then,  seeing  that  no  one  joined  in  his 
laughter,  and  perceiving  a  tear  trickle  down 
Moishe's  cheek  as  the  disillusioning  situation 
dawned  on  him,  the  sergeant  became  grave. 
"Cheer  up!"  he  said.  "You've  got  some  of  the 
money  back,  and  maybe  you'll  get  all  the  rest." 

1 l  The  schnor  rer ! ' '  cried  Gordonsky.  *  *  Where 
is  he?  I  must  find  him!" 

He  started  for  the  door,  but  the  rabbi  re- 
strained him. 

"Wait  a  minute!  You  can't  find  a  man  in 
New  York  like  that  Leave  it  to  the  police." 

The  sergeant  summoned  a  detective  and  ex- 
plained the  situation  to  him.  "You  go  along 
with  these  people  and  see  if  you  can't  find  the 
other  chap,"  he  said. 

As  they  left  the  station  house  the  sergeant 
thrust  something  into  Moishe's  hand.  "Put 
that  in  your  pocket  and  don't  look  at  it  till  you 
get  home,"  said  he. 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  25 

In  Grand  Street  they  were  fortunate  enough 
to  come  upon  the  schnorrer's  trail  without  much 
loss  of  time.  A  Yiddish  push-cart  vendor  rec- 
ognised the  description  at  once. 

" Dot's  him,"  he  said  eagerly.  "A  stylish 
greenhorn.  He  says  dot  he  vos  vit  a  liddle  boy 
vot  got  losted  und  vants  to  know  vot  he  should 
do.  Und  I  told  him  der  policemens  take  al- 
ways der  losted  childers  to  der  station  house 
unt  keeps  dem  till  der  owners  comes.  So  he 
says,  'Veil,'  he  says,  'den  dere  iss  no  hurry. 
I  am  losted,  too,'  he  says,  'but  I  find  myself 
unt  der  boy  ven  I  gets  finished  vit  my  bizness,' 
he  says.  'Vare,'  he  says,  '  should  I  go  to  buy 
me  a  necktie — a  big,  fine  vun?  '  I  told  him  vere 
iss  Rosenstein's  store,  unt  maybe  he  iss  dere 
now!" 

Gordonsky  groaned.  "The  gonof!"  he  mut- 
tered. "Not  only  a  new  suit  but  a  necktie  he 
must  buy  out  of  my  money!  Come,"  he  said 
to  the  rabbi,  "it  is  better  we  hurry  before  he 
spends  it  all  I" 

They  hastened  to  Rosenstein's  store.  Yes, 
the  schnorrer  had  been  there. 

* '  A  purple  necktie  he  bought — ah,  yes — chust 
like  der  chentleman  hass  got  on,"  said  Mr. 


26  With  the  Best  Intention 

Rosenstein,   pointing  to   the   rabbi's   necktie. 
"Unt  he  wrote  on  a  paper  vot  it  cost." 

"Did  he  say  where  he  was  going ?"  asked  the 
detective. 

"No.  He  ask  me  vare  could  he  buy  a  nice 
vatch-chain,  unt  I  said  Levine's  on  Essex  Street 
iss  cheap  unt  reliable,  but  I  don't  know  if  he 
hass  go  dere!" 

"A  watch-chain!"  groaned  Gordonsky  when 
this  was  translated  to  him.  "The  gonof!  The 
liar!  He  will  buy  a  house  yet!" 

Yes!  He  had  been  at  Levine's!  He  had 
bought  the  heaviest,  flashiest,  imitation  gold 
chain  in  the  store. 

"Ask  him  how  much  it  cost,"  said  Gordon- 
sky.  "Two  dollars?  Four  rubles?  AchGott! 
I  kill  him  when  I  get  him. ' ' 

"Der  chentleman,"  explained  Mr.  Levine, 
"wrote  down  the  price  on  paper." 

They  found  even  further  trace  of  the  schnor- 
rer.  They  learned,  in  the  course  of  fifteen  min- 
utes'  investigation,  that  he  had  bought  himself 
a  gold-headed  cane,  a  red  silk  handkerchief, 
and  a  pair  of  shoes.  And  then  he  seemed  to 
have  dropped  out  of  existence. 

"I  guess  we  can't  do  any  more  to-night,"  said 
the  detective.  "You'd  better  come  back  to  the 


The  Schnorrer's  Arrival  27 

station  with  me  and  give  a  good  description  of 
the  chap.  We'll  send  out  an  alarm  for  him, 
and  I  guess  we'll  find  him  easily." 

They  took  Moishe  home  to  his  mother  first 
and  then  returned  to  the  station  house.  When 
they  entered  the  station  Gordonsky  beheld  his 
friend  Lapidowitz,  in  glorious  array,  with  a 
huge  bundle  under  his  arm,  standing  before  the 
sergeant's  desk,  protesting  volubly  against  his 
arrest. 

"Gonof!"  cried  Gordonsky,  springing  for- 
ward. "Give  me  my  money!" 

"There  he  is!"  cried  the  schnorrer  eagerly. 
"He  is  my  friend.  Tell  him,  Gordonsky,  how 
I  got  lost!" 

"Gonof — "  began  Gordonsky,  but  Lapido- 
witz was  too  excited  to  hear  him. 

"Could  it  be  vorse  in  Russia?"  he  -cried. 
"Comes  a  policeman  and  asks  what  I -have  got 
in  my  bundle.  And  I  say  clothes.  And  where 
did  I  get  my  new  things?  And  I  say  I  buy 
them.  And  where  did  I  get  the  money?  On 
the  street  I  find  it  like  everyone  else,  I  say. 
And  where  do  I  live?  I  don't  know,  I  say. 
And  then,  just  for  nothing,  here  I  am  in  prison. 
Tell  him,  Gordonsky!  Tell  him,  Mr.  Rabbi! 
I  ain't  a  liar." 


28  With  the  Best  Intention 

"My  money!  Where  is  my  money?"  cried 
Gordonsky. 

"Your  money?"  asked  Lapidowitz.  "How 
do  I  know?" 

"Listen!"  said  the  rabbi.  He  began  to  ex- 
plain the  situation  to  Lapidowitz.  The  schnor- 
rer  did  not  seem  to  understand  at  first,  and  the 
rabbi  began  all  over  again.  Then,  slowly,  the 
schnorrer 's  face  turned  very  red.  He  under- 
stood. He  took  from  his  pocket  what  was  left 
of  the  money  he  had  found  and,  without  a 
word,  handed  it  to  Gordonsky,  who  quickly 
counted  it. 

"Nearly  fifty  dollars  are  missing,"  said 
he. 

"How  much  of  the  money  did  you  spend?" 
asked  the  rabbi.  The  schnorrer  drew  from  his 
pocket  the  slip  of  paper. 

"Thirty-nine  dollars,"  he  said,  addressing 
the  sergeant  as  if  to  seek  protection.  The  rabbi 
grinned.  He  knew  the  schnorrer  type,  well. 

"Has  he  any  money?"  he  whispered  to  Gor- 
donsky. 

"Sure  Ee  has.  The  gonof!  Don't  you  re- 
member he  changed  a  hundred  and  fifty  ru- 
bles?" 

"That's    so!    Well,    Mr.    Lapidowitz,    I'm 


Thie  Schnorrer's  Arrival  29 

afraid  you  will  have  to  give  Mr.  Gordonsky  the 
money  you  spent." 

The  schnorrer  gazed  appealingly  at  the  ser- 
geant. ' '  Yes, ' '  said  the  sergeant.  * '  That 's  the 
law  here.*' 

Without  a  word  Lapidowitz  drew  out  his 
store  of  American  money  and  counted  out 
thirty-nine  dollars,  which  he  handed  to  Gordon- 
sky.  "Can  I  go  now?"  he  asked  the  sergeant. 

"Sure.  You  aren't  arrested.  The  police- 
man just  thought  you  were  a  suspicious  char- 
acter. But  you're  all  right." 

As  they  passed  through  the  doorway  the 
schnorrer  turned  to  the  sergeant.  "In  Russia 
they  don't  rob  prisoners,"  he  said. 

"Cheer  up,"  said  the  rabbi,  as  they  walked 
homeward.  "You  have  fine  clothes,  and  Mr. 
Gordonsky  has  a  fine  room  ready  for  you. 
There's  nothing  to  worry  so  much  about. 
You  '11  soon  be  earning  money. ' ' 

"I  feel  sick,"  said  the  schnorrer. 

Gordonsky  chuckled.  "That's  what  you 
saved  your  money  for,  didn't  you?  In  case  of 
sickness?" 

But  there  was  no  spirit  of  retort  in  Lapi- 
dowitz. When  they  reached  the  little  apart- 
ment in  the  tenement  that  was  thenceforth  to 


30  With  the  Best  Intention 

be  their  home,  they  found  Moishe,  still  up,  wait- 
ing for  them. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  found  Mr.  Lapido- 
witz ! "  he  cried.  *  *  Look,  papa,  what  the  police- 
man gave  me. '  '  He  showed  his  father  a  bright 
half-dollar.  " There  isn't  any  money  in  the 
streets,  and  maybe  you  ain't  free,"  he  said, 
"but  they're  nice  people." 

"Fine  people,"  said  his  father  with  a  grin. 
"Hey,  Lapidowitz?" 


II 

An  Apple  Wasted 

LAPIDOWITZ,  the  schnorrer,  selected  the 
royal  road  to  learning.  His  friend  and 
benefactor,  Gordonsky,  after  a  hard  day 's  work 
in  the  tailor  shop,  spent  his  evenings  at  the 
Beth  Hamidrash,  or  study-house,  of  his  syna- 
gogue, where  a  dapper  young  man  taught  a 
roomful  of  patriarchs  to  spell  "cat,"  "dog," 
and  "rat."  Gordonsky  was  ambitious  to  learn 
English,  but  sometimes,  during  the  lesson,  he 
fell  asleep  from  sheer  fatigue.  To  little  Moishe 
Gordonsky  the  road  to  learning  was  a  dreary, 
precipitous  trail,  barren  of  joy  and  devoid  of 
hope.  The  teacher  whom  he  had  adored  had 
abandoned  both  him  and  the  school  to  get  mar- 
ried, and  in  her  place  had  come  a  sandy-haired, 
unprepossessing  female,  whose  personality  had 
the  effect  of  stirring  up  all  that  was  rebellious 
in  Moishe 's  nature.  Lapidowitz  spent  most  of 
his  time  loafing  about  the  coffee-houses,  declar- 
ing each  night  that  he  was  making  wonderful 

31 


32  With  the  Best  Intention 

progress  in  English  and  that,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak  the  language  fluently,  a  lucrative  posi- 
tion was  waiting  for  him. 

He  always  called  on  the  Gordonskys  at  sup- 
per time.  "What?  Not  through  with  dinner 
yet?"  he  would  say.  "I  just  thought  I'd  drop 
around  to  help  Mrs.  Gordonsky  with  the  dishes. 
She  must  be  so  tired." 

Then  during  the  meal  he  would  insist  that 
his  way  of  studying  the  language  and  the  cus- 
toms of  this  new  land  was  far  superior  to  Gor- 
donsky 's,  to  which  Gordonsky  invariably  replied 
with  a  lengthy  and  detailed  opinion  of  the 
schnorrer's  laziness,  mendacity,  and  utter  use- 
lessness,  during  which  the  schnorrer  ate. 

"What  do  you  expect  will  become  of  you?" 
Gordonsky  said  one  night.  "You  are  the  laz- 
iest man  on  the  East  Side.  All  day  long  you 
loaf  around  the  coffee-houses,  and  then  you 
come  and  sponge  on  your  friends  for  a  meal. 
How  long  do  you  think  it  will  last?" 

"Oh,  a  good  while  yet,"  Lapidowitz 
answered,  unabashed.  "I  have  other  friends 
besides  you." 

"I  wish  you  would  stick  to  them,"  Gordon- 
sky  retorted.  "I  am  tired  of  seeing  your  face. 
I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  brought  you  over  here 


An  Apple  Wasted  33 

from  Russia.  Never  did  I  get  the  slightest 
thanks  for  it.  Do  you  expect  to  be  a  schnorrer 
all  your  life?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  getting  married,*'  replied 
Lapidowitz  calmly,  helping  himself  to  another 
plate  of  lentil  soup.  "Already  I  spoke  to  a 
schatchen  about  it.  Any  lady  at  all  I  will  take 
so  long  as  she  has  money  or  can  support  me 
so  that  I  can  study." 

" Marry?  Study?"  exclaimed  Gordonsky. 
"You  must  be  crazy.  No  woman  who  had  eyes 
to  look  at  you  would  dream  of  marrying  you 
if  she  was  in  her  senses.  And  if  she  did,  all 
the  studying  you  would  ever  do  would  be  play- 
ing cards  in  the  coffee-house  all  day  long." 

"Let  papa  talk,"  said  the  schnorrer,  after 
winking  gravely  at  little  Moishe.  "He  thinks 
he's  the  only  smart  man  in  the  world,  but  some 
day  I'll  show  him." 

There  was  quite  a  bond  of  affection  between 
the  schnorrer  and  the  little  boy,  due,  probably, 
to  the  fact  that  Lapidowitz  always  took  the  lad 
seriously,  and  frequently  had  long  talks  with 
him.  But  Moishe  only  grinned.  The  idea  of 
a  woman  marrying  the  schnorrer  struck  him  as 
being  funny. 

During  the  year  that  had  elapsed  since  the 


34  With  the  Best  Intention 

Gordonskys  arrived  in  New  York  from  Eussia, 
Moishe  had  acquired  a  stanch  friend,  a  fluent 
command  of  Ghetto  English,  and  a  perfect  con- 
fidence in  himself.  The  timidity  that  is  bred 
in  Jewish  children  in  Eussian  towns  disappears 
quickly  in  the  streets  of  New  York. 

His  friend  and  ally  was  Davy  Levine.  Moi- 
she met  Davy  Levine  in  the  school  classroom 
and  asked  him  what  he  intended  to  he  when  he 
grew  up. 

"A  millionaire,"  said  Davy.  "What  are 
you?" 

"President  from  the  United  States,"  said 
Moishe. 

"You  can't,"  replied  Davy.  "Jews  can't  he 
President.  They  got  to  be  Krists." 

"You're  a  liar,"  retorted  Moishe,  whereupon 
Davy  smote  him  one  upon  the  nose.  There 
was  a  fight  that  delighted  the  hearts  of  half  the 
school  that  witnessed  it,  and  then  Davy  and 
Moishe,  disheveled,  both  bleeding  from  the  nose, 
but  throughly  unabashed,  were  brought  before 
their  teacher.  They  loved  their  teacher,  and 
when  she  had  lectured  them  they  felt  ashamed 
of  themselves.  So  they  shook  hands  and  made 
up,  and  after  that  they  were  good  friends. 

It  is  a  curious  relation  that  exists  between  an 


An  Apple  Wasted  35 

East  Side  school-teacher  and  her  Yiddish  hope- 
fuls. Fresh  from  the  dark  and  dreary  sur- 
roundings of  their  Russian  Ghetto,  their  teacher 
is  usually  the  first  representative  of  all  the 
glories  of  this  new  land  with  whom  they  come 
in  close  contact,  and  if  she  be  a  Gentile,  as  was 
in  those  days  usually  the  case,  she  typifies  to 
them  the  whole  alien  world  that  surrounds  their 
new  Ghetto.  If  she  be  of  a  sympathetic  nature, 
with  a  heart  responsive  to  the  appeal  of  child- 
hood, her  influence  is  boundless.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  she  be  one  of  that  tribe  of  spinster- 
hood  to  whom  children  are  mysteries,  she  seems 
to  bring  out  the  worst  that  is  in  them,  and  fre- 
quently does  no  little  mischief. 

Moishe's  first  teacher  was  now  gone,  and  in 
her  place  was  one  whom  the  pupils  always  re- 
ferred to  formally  as  Miss  Fraser.  Her  prede- 
cessor had  been  "Teacher.'*  And  whether  it 
was  merely  the  exuberance  of  boyish  spirits 
bubbling  over  after  long  repression,  or  whether 
there  was  something  in  the  personality  of  this 
sharp-featured,  snappy-tongued  woman  that 
acted  as  an  irritant  upon  the  pupils,  the  class 
became  unruly,  and  the  worst  of  them  all  was 
Moishe  Gordonsky.  Day  after  day  all  the  dev- 
iltry in  his  nature  came  uppermost,  and  in  the 


36  With  the  Best  Intention 

thousand  and  one  indescribable  ways  that  only 
boys  know,  he  almost  drove  the  teacher  to  dis- 
traction. But  Miss  Fraser  was  stubborn. 
There  was  Scotch  blood  in  her,  and  she  felt  con- 
fident that  in  the  end  she  would  subdue  that 
brood. 

Many  a  talk  did  Moishe  and  his  friend  Davy 
have  over  this  intolerable  condition. 

"What's  the  use?"  Moishe  would  say.  "A 
feller  can't  have  no  more  fun." 

"She's  a  homely  mug,"  Davy  would  answer. 
"I  wish  Teacher  was  back." 

"Teacher  used  to  learn  us  something,  but  by 
Miss  Fraser  I  don't  learn  nothing  and  got  to 
work  all  the  time." 

Which,  by  the  way,  was  not  strictly  true.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  class  made  better  progress 
under  Miss  Fraser  than  under  her  beloved 
predecessor,  but  there  was  more  friction.  One 
day  when  Moishe  had  dropped  a  piece  of  chew- 
ing-gum down  a  boy's  neck  the  teacher  only 
smiled.  At  the  close  of  school,  however,  she 
handed  him  a  note. 

"Give  this  to  your  father,"  she  said. 

Moishe  had  already  forgotten  the  chewing- 
gum  incident,  and  that  night,  without  a  shadow 
of  suspicion,  he  gave  the  note  to  his  father. 


An  Apple  Wasted  37 

"What  says  it?"  asked  Gordonsky,  turning 
it  over  helplessly. 

Moishe  shook  his  head.  "I  tried  to  read  it 
but  couldn't,"  he  said.  "It's  something  about 
a  sheep.  Maybe  she  got  one  what  she  wants  to 
sell." 

Gordonsky  took  the  note  with  him  to  the  Beth 
Hamidrash  that  evening  and,  ere  his  lesson  be- 
gan, asked  the  instructor  to  read  it  to  him.  It 
ran: 

Dear  Sir: 

Your  son  is  the  black  sheep  of  my  class,  and  I 
am  unable  to  do  anything  with  him.  I  wish  you 
would  come  to  see  me  at  your  convenience.  I  think, 
between  us,  we  may  induce  him  to  devote  more 
thought  to  his  studies  and  less  to  the  pranks  he  is 
always  playing. 

"Oy!  Oy!"  cried  Gordonsky.  "My  son  a 
black  sheep !  Only  last  week  I  asked  him  how 
he  was  getting  along  in  the  school,  and  he  said 
'  Fine. '  And  to  play  jokes  I  send  him  to  school ! 
To-night  you  excuse  me,  teacher?  I  got  to  go 
straight  home." 

Home  he  went  and,  without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation, administered  to  Moishe  the  treatment 
advocated  by  Solomon. 


38  With  the  Best  Intention 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  Mrs.  Gordon- 
sky  and  the  schnorrer  in  one  breath. 

"A  black  sheep  he  is!"  exclaimed  the  father. 
"Instead  of  getting  smart  in  school  he  gets 
fresh,  and  the  teacher  writes  me  a  letter." 

"The  Talmud  says  you  should  be  eager  to 
acquire  knowledge,"  said  the  schnorrer  gently 
to  Moishe. 

"I'm  too  busy  to  see  the  teacher,"  Gordon- 
sky  said  to  Lapidowitz ; ' '  suppose  you  go  in  the 
morning  and  talk  with  her.  Tell  her  I  got  to 
work,  but  you  only  got  to  loaf  all  day." 

"Sure  I  go,"  said  the  schnorrer. 

So  it  happened  that  the  next  morning  while 
Miss  Fraser 's  class  was  struggling  to  under- 
stand why  six  times  two  are  twelve  the  door 
opened  and  Lapidowitz,  in  shiny  frock  coat,  en- 
tered the  classroom.  The  moment  he  beheld 
Miss  Fraser  a  look  of  profound  admiration  came 
into  his  eyes.  There  was  something  in  her 
combative,  self-assertive  aura  that  appealed  to 
him. 

"Moishe  Gordonsky — "  he  began. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Fraser.  "You're  his 
father.  Well,  if  I  were  in  your  place  I'd  give 
that  boy  a  spanking  every  day  for  a  week.  All 
this  morning  he  has  been  making  pinwheels  out 


An  Apple  Wasted  39 

of  the  pages  of  his  arithmetic  book,  and  he  pays 
no  more  attention  to  what  I  say  than  if  I  were 
talking  to  the  wall.  He  isn't  a  stupid  boy  by 
any  means.  He's  just  full  of  mischief,  and  I 
won't  have  any  mischief  in  my  classroom." 

The  schnorrer's  eyes  never  left  her  face. 
"When  she  paused  for  breath  he  said,  with  an 
ingratiating  smirk: 

"I  ain't  his  papa.  I  ain't  married  at  all. 
His  papa  got  to  work,  so  I  came.  I  never  got 
married." 

Miss  Fraser  stared  at  him.  "Well,  I  guess 
you  can  take  my  message  to  his  father,"  she 
said.  "The  boy  needs  severe  discipline  at 
home." 

She  turned  her  back  and  resumed  her  talk  to 
the  class.  Lapidowitz  hesitated,  walked  slowly 
to  the  door,  hesitated  again,  and,  with  a  cough, 
turned  towards  her.  "No,"  he  said,  twirling 
his  silk  hat  between  his  fingers,  "I  never  got 
married.  It's  nice  to  have  a  home." 

Then  he  sighed  and  walked  out.  After  school 
that  day  it  chanced  that  Moishe  and  Davy  on 
their  way  home  met  Teacher  and  her  husband. 
They  were  delighted  to  behold  her  and  over- 
joyed when  she  presented  them  to  her  husband 
as  two  of  her  favourite  pupils. 


40  With  the  Best  Intention 

"And  how  are  you  getting  on  now?"  she 
asked. 

"Rotten,"  replied  Moishe  glibly.  "Miss 
Fraser's  no  good!" 

"Oh,  Moishe,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that," 
chided  Teacher. 

"She's  always  writing  letters  so  I  get  lick- 
ings," replied  Moishe. 

"And  she's  sassy,"  chimed  in  Davy.  "She 
ain't  like  you." 

"Cheer  up,  boys,"  said  Teacher's  hus- 
band, laughing.  "Maybe  she'll  get  married 
soon  and  you'll  have  better  luck  with  the  next 
one. ' ' 

That  night  at  supper  Gordonsky  asked  the 
schnorrer  what  the  teacher  had  said.  Lapi- 
dowitz  chuckled. 

"She  thought  I  was  Moishe 's  papa,"  he  said. 
"But  I  told  her  I  wasn't  married.  How  much 
do  teachers  get  for  wages,  Moishe?" 

"Imbecile!"  exclaimed  Grordonsky.  "Tell 
me  what  she  said  about  Moishe." 

4 '  Oh,  she  says  he  isn't  a  stupid  boy.  She  says 
he  makes  fine  pinwheels.  Maybe,  Moishe,  if 
we  get  some  fancy  paper  you  make  pinwheels 
and  we  sell  them.  What  is  the  teacher's 
name!" 


An  Apple  Wasted  41 

"Did  she  say  lie  was  a  black  sheep! "  asked 
Gordonsky. 

"She  didn't  talk  about  sheep, "  replied  the 
schnorrer.  "She  said  Moishe  is  all  right,  only 
he  ain't  stupid.  She's  a  fine  woman,  Gordon- 
sky.  A  good  business  face.  In  a  store  she'd 
make  a  man  rich.  Where  does  she  live, 
Moishe?" 

The  next  morning  Moishe,  on  his  way  to 
school,  met  the  schnorrer. 

"My,  what  a  fine  surprise,"  exclaimed  Lapi- 
dowitz.  "Are  you  going  to  school!  Here's  a 
nice  apple  you  can  give  the  teacher.  Tell  her 
Mr.  Lapidowitz  says  she's  a  fine  woman." 

"She's  no  good,"  said  Moishe.  "Teacher's 
husband  says  she  ought  to  get  married  and  then 
maybe  we  get  a  good  teacher." 

"Yes?"  exclaimed  Lapidowitz.  He  stroked 
his  beard  thoughtfully.  A  sudden  idea  seized 
Moishe. 

"Maybe  if  you  marry  her,"  he  cried,  "we'll 
get  a  new  teacher.  Will  the  schatchen  let 
you?" 

"The  schatchen  has  with  school-teachers 
nothing  to  do,"  explained  the  schnorrer,  "but  I 
tell  you  what,  Moishe,  you're  a  smart  boy.  You 
got  a  fine  brain.  You  give  her  the  apple  and 


42  With  the  Best  Intention 

ask  her  if  she  likes  me.  Don't  say  I  said  it. 
And  then  you  tell  me  what  she  says.  I'll  wait 
outside  till  you  come  out  of  school. ' ' 

During  the  morning  session  Moishe,  holding 
a  book  before  his  face  so  that  the  teacher  would 
not  see  him,  whispered  to  his  friend  Davy  his 
brilliant  plan. 

"Maybe  if  she  goes  for  to  marry  him  we  get 
a  teacher  what  ain't  a  crank,"  he  explained. 
"He  gave  me  a  apple  to  give  her." 

"Moishe  Gordonsky,"  cried  Miss  Fraser, 
* '  step  up  to  the  blackboard  and  stand  with  your 
back  to  the  class  for  one  hour.  This  whisper- 
ing has  to  stop." 

Moishe  gritted  his  teeth  and  submitted  to  his 
punishment,  although  every  time  that  he  felt 
the  teacher  was  not  observing  him  he  turned 
his  head  stealthily  and  made  faces  at  her.  At 
the  noon  recess  the  schnorrer,  waiting  for  Moi- 
she outside  the  school,  beheld  him  come  out 
munching  the  apple. 

"Just  for  spite  I  didn't  give  it  to  her,"  said 
Moishe,  explaining  what  had  happened. 

"Ts!  Ts!  Moishe,  you  shouldn't  do  it. 
She's  a  fine  lady — a  fine,  smart,  business  brain 
she  got.  Come,  you  keep  the  apple!  I  buy 
another  one  what  you  give  to  her.  Yes?" 


43 

That  afternoon  Moishe  approached  the 
teacher 's  desk  and  laid  down  the  apple.  * '  From 
Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  he  said. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Miss  Fraser,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"He's  a  schnorrer,"  explained  Moishe. 

"A  schnorrer?"  asked  Miss  Fraser,  bewil- 
dered. "What's  that?" 

Moishe  shook  his  head.  A  schnorrer  was  a 
schnorrer — beyond  that  it  was  too  difficult  to 
explain.  But  Davy's  hand  went  up. 

"I  know  what  it  is,"  he  cried  proudly.  The 
teacher  looked  at  him.  Davy  rose,  clasped  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  in  the  monotonous 
tone  of  a  pupil  reciting  his  lesson,  "A  schnor- 
rer," said  he,  "is  a  bum  what  don't  work  and 
ain't  no  good." 

Fifty  little  heads  solemnly  nodded  approval, 
and  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  gazed  inquiringly  at  the 
teacher  as  if  to  ask  whether  she  now  understood 
what  a  schnorrer  was.  Miss  Fraser,  with  crim- 
son cheeks,  turned  to  Moishe. 

"Is  that  what  he  is — the  man  that  sent  this 
apple?" 

"Sure,"  said  Moishe,  "a  schnorrer." 

"This  is  amazing,"  said  Miss  Fraser.    "I 


44  With  the  Best  Intention 

can't  understand  it.  Who  is  he?  "Why  did  he 
send  me  the  apple?" 

"He's  gone  by  the  schatchen  for  a  wife,"  ex- 
plained Moishe,  "but  he  says  you're  nice  and 
maybe  he'll  marry  you." 

The  classroom  swam  before  the  teacher's 
eyes,  amazement  and  indignation  almost  choked 
her.  Then  she  seized  Moishe  by  the  arm. 
c'Come,"  she  said,  "this  is  too  much."  She 
led  the  frightened  lad  before  the  principal. 
"Miss  Robinson,"  she  cried,  "I  really  cannot 
have  this  boy  in  my  class  any  longer.  He  is 
the  worst  boy  in  the  school.  I  have  just  been 
insulted  in  the  most  horrible  manner." 

Miss  Robinson  was  over  fifty — an  age  at 
which  even  a  spinster  obtains  a  wider  view  of 
the  bigness  of  life  and  its  problems — and  she 
had  had  much  experience,  both  with  pupils  and 
with  teachers.  She  gazed  at  Moishe  reproach- 
fully. 

"Do  you  know  what  an  insult  is!" 

"No,  missus,"  said  Moishe. 

"H'm!  An  insult  is  something  wicked  and 
not  nice.  Do  you  think  a  little  boy  ought  to  say 
something  bad  to  his  teacher?" 

Moishe 's  eyes  opened  wide  in  indignant  pro- 


An  Apple  Wasted  45 

test.  "I  didn't  say  nothing  bad,"  he  cried. 
"I  said  something  nice,  and  she  grabbed  me  by 
the  arm." 

"What  did  he  say?"  Miss  Eobinson  asked 
the  teacher. 

Miss  Fraser  turned  red.  "I  should  dislike 
very  much  to  repeat  it,"  she  said  firmly. 

Miss  Eobinson  gazed  at  her.  "You  may  re- 
turn to  your  class,"  she  said  finally.  "Leave 
the  boy  here.  I'll  attend  to  the  matter." 

When  Miss  Fraser  had  departed,  the  princi- 
pal smiled  at  Moishe.  In  that  smile  lay  all  that 
was  needed  to  establish  firm  and  confidential 
relations  between  the  two.  Moishe  suddenly 
realised  that  the  principal  was  just  like 
Teacher,  and  his  heart  expanded. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  said  Miss  Eobinson.  "You 
look  like  a  bright  boy  and  a  good  boy.  Tell  me 
about  it." 

"Yes,  missus,"  said  Moishe.  "Always  Miss 
Fraser  sasses  us  and  sends  letters  by  my  father 
so's  I  get  lickings.  So  I  meets  Teacher  with 
her  man,  and  he  says  maybe  if  Miss  Fraser  gets 
married  we  get  a  better  teacher.  So  the  schnor- 
rer  gets  stuck  on  her  and  says  he  don't  care  for 
what  the  schatchen  says.  So  he  gives  me  a 


46  With  the  Best  Intention 

apple  what  I  give  Miss  Fraser  and  I  says, 
he  says  she's  nice  and  she  can  get  married,  and 
she  gets  mad.  Honest,  I  didn't  do  nothin'!" 

Miss  Robinson's  face  hecame  very  red  with 
suppressed  emotions.  She  turned  her  hack 
upon  Moishe  and  sat  for  quite  a  while  trem- 
hling,  Moishe  thought.  Then  she  said: 

1  'Go  into  Miss  Wilkins's  class.  Tell  her 
I  sent  you  there." 

When  he  had  departed  Miss  Robinson  looked 
out  the  window.  Leaning  against  a  lamp-post 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  she  saw  a 
tall,  lank  figure,  frock  coated  and  bearded, 
smoking  a  cigarette  and  waiting  with  the  pa- 
tience of  Job. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  she  exclaimed.  Then  she  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  note  to  Miss  Fraser. 

"I  am  deeply  sorry  that  you  were  so  an- 
noyed," she  wrote.  "I  have  made  the  boy  see 
the  enormity  of  his  offence.  He  seems  quite 
bright,  and  I  have  advanced  him  to  Miss  Wil- 
kins's class  so  that  you  will  not  be  bothered  with 
hi™  any  longer." 

Then  she  looked  out  of  the  window  again. 
Lapidowitz  was  lighting  another  cigarette. 
Miss  Robinson  sank  into  a  chair  and  laughed 
until  the  tears  rolled  down  her  face. 


On  the  opposite  >ide  of  the   street    was   a  tall,   lank   figure,  frock 
i-uuted    and    bearded,    waiting    with    the    patience   of   Job 


m 

Lapidowitz 's  List 

PEOPLE  who  possess  the  gift  of  expres- 
sion usually  like  to  talk,  and  when  Lapi- 
dowitz,  the  schnorrer,  frowned  and  told  Milken 
not  to  bother  him,  Milken  lit  a  cigar  and  calmly 
seated  himself  at  the  table  where  Lapidowitz 
sat  making  notes  in  a  memorandum  book.  Mil- 
ken liked  Lapidowitz  and  knew  that,  presently, 
Lapidowitz  would  tell  him  what  it  was  all  about, 
for  Lapidowitz  was  a  glib  talker  and  was  rarely 
quiet  for  any  great  length  of  time. 

It  was  in  Milken's  coffee-house  that  this  took 
place.  Lapidowitz,  who  lived  entirely  by  his 
wits,  had  almost  exhausted  his  credit,  and  Mil- 
ken had  been  looking  forward  to  a  convenient 
opportunity  to  ask  him  when  he  intended  to  set- 
tle. The  little  coffee-house  was  almost  deserted 
when  Lapidowitz  came  in  and,  without  seeming 
to  notice  the  proprietor,  seated  himself  at  a 
table  making  entries  in  his  note-book.  Milken, 
having  nothing  else  to  do,  watched  him  in  silence 
for  a  while  and  then,  approaching,  asked: 

47 


48  With  the  Best  Intention 

"Vot  iss  der  matter,  Lapidowitz?  Counting 
up  how  much  you  owe  me?" 

* '  Sh-h-h ! ' '  said  Lapidowitz.  "  I  'm  busy  now. 
Go  avay!" 

It  was  then  that  Milken  seated  himself  at  the 
table  and  waited.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"I  guess  I  go  into  bizness,"  said  Lapidowitz 
after  a  while. 

"Vot  kind  of  bizness?"  asked  Milken. 

"A  newspaper-stand.  I  know  vare  vun  iss 
vot  I  can  get  cheap.  Only  tventy-five  dollars. ' ' 

"Vare  iss  der  tventy-five  dollars  coming  out 
uf  ?"  asked  Milken. 

Lapidowitz  gravely  opened  his  memorandum- 
book  and  showed  a  list  of  names  and  figures. 
"You  see,"  he  explained,  "first  unt  last,  al- 
vays,  I'm  a  bizness  man.  Here  iss  der  friends 
vot  I  got  unt  how  much  I  am  sure  vot  dey  vill 
lend." 

"Am  I  on  der  list?"  asked  Milken  anxiously. 

Lapidowitz  shook  his  head.  "Not  on  dis 
list,"  said  he.  "Here  I  only  borrow  to  eat  unt 
to  drink.  For  money  I  don't  ask." 

Milken  felt  relieved.  "Who  iss  on  der  list?" 
he  asked. 

"Veil,"  said  Lapidowitz,  "I  got  Sammis 
down  for  two  dollars.  He  gave  me  a  overcoat 


Lapidowitz 's  List  49 

last  vinter.  Unt  by  Gordonsky  I  can  alvays 
borrow  a  dollar  unt  a  halluf.  Six  people  I  got 
down  for  a  dollar.  By  Rosenheim  I'm  alvays 
good  for  two  dollars.  Nearly  efryvare  I  can 
get  fifty  cents.  But  Lubarsky  iss  der  big  vun. 
Him  I  got  down  for  ten  dollars." 

"Lubarsky?"  asked  Milken,  incredulous. 

' '  Sure, ' '  said  Lapidowitz  stoutly.  * '  Ain  't  he 
a  rich  vun?" 

"Rich,  yes,"  said  Milken.  "But  so  stingy. 
Vot  makes  you  t'ink  he  iss  good  for  ten  dol- 
lars?" 

"Ven  I  tell  him  I  got  him  on  der  list  for  ten 
dollars,"  vouchsafed  Lapidowitz  confidently, 
"you  can  make  a  bet  he  lends  me  ten  dollars. 
Anyvay,"  he  added,  "v'y  shouldn't  he?" 

To  this  Milken  made  no  answer,  but  his  re- 
spect for  Lapidowitz  was  greatly  increased,  for 
he  saw  clearly  that  Lapidowitz  was  a  business 
man.  He  decided  to  say  nothing  about  the  little 
account  between  them  until  Lapidowitz  had  pur- 
chased his  news-stand.  Then,  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst,  he  could  take  it  out  in  papers. 

"Let  me  know  how  comes  it  all  out,"  he  said, 
as  Lapidowitz  departed. 

The  schnorrer  found  Lubarsky  in  his  real- 
estate  office,  reading  the  daily  list  of  sales,  mort- 


50  With  the  Best  Intention 

gages,  and  Us  pendens.  "Mister  Lubarsky," 
lie  began,  with  an  ingratiating  smirk,  "I  haf  a 
good  bizness  proposition  got.  If  I  haf  tventy- 
five  dollars  I  can  buy  a  good  newspaper-stand 
vare  I  can  make  lots  uf  money.  So,  maybe,  you 
lend  me  ten  dollars  ?  Yes  ? ' ' 

Lubarsky  bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar  and  gazed 
intently  at  Lapidowitz.  "Lend  you  ten  dol- 
lars ?"  he  asked  slowly.  "Are  you  meshuga 
(crazy)?" 

Lapidowitz  drew  himself  up  proudly.  ' '  No,  ' ' 
he  said,  "I  am  not  meshuga.  But  you  are  mes- 
huga. Ven  comes  a  man  vot  iss  honest  unt 
asks  you  to  do  him  a  favour  iss  dot  der  vay  to 
talk?  I  say  to  myself,  'Lubarsky,'  I  say,  'isa 
a  honest  man  unt  a  good  man.  He  knows  der 
Torah  unt  der  Talmud  by  heart,  unt  he  knows 
all  vot  it  says  about  charity  to  der  poor.  So,' 
I  says,  'Lubarsky  sure  vill  lend  me  ten  dol- 
lars.' Now  iss  it  all  a  mistake?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lubarsky.  "It  iss.  Unt  vot's 
more,  der  qvicker  you  go  avay  der  more  hap- 
pier I  vill  be." 

Lapidowitz  took  off  his  overcoat  and  laid  it 
upon  a  chair.  Then  he  carefully  deposited  his 
hat  and  his  cane  on  top  of  his  overcoat.  Then 
he  drew  a  chair  close  to  Lubarsky  and  began  to 


Lapidowitz 's  List  51 

talk.  At  first  Lubarsky  continued  to  read  his 
paper.  Lapidowitz  coaxed,  wheedled,  begged, 
and  implored.  Lubarsky  seemed  to  pay  no  heed 
to  him.  Then  Lapidowitz  began  to  argue,  to 
expound,  to  lay  down  the  law,  and  present  the 
whole  matter  from  the  broadest  possible  stand- 
point. Lubarsky  dropped  his  paper  and  looked 
at  him.  Then  Lapidowitz  went  into  the  possi- 
bility of  a  really  final  and  absolute  refusal  on 
Lubarsky 's  part,  explained  the  consequences, 
and  exhausted  the  list  of  curses  that  might  be 
invoked  upon  Lubarsky 's  head.  Not  only  did 
he  exhaust  the  curses  of  the  Talmud  and  the 
Cabala  and  the  long  line  of  rabbinical  experts 
incursing,  but  added  a  few  original  ones  that 
made  Lubarsky  admire  his  imagination. 

"Say,"  said  Lubarsky,  when  he  had  finished, 
"you  are  a  good  talker.  For  a  loafer  vot  al- 
vays  vas  too  lazy  to  vork  you  really  talk  very 
fine.  But  if  you  talk  six  t'ousand  years,  nefer 
vould  I  lend  you  ten  dollars.  Because  v'y? 
Because  dots  der  end  uf  der  ten  dollars.  But  I 
got  a  idea.  If  you  are  a  man  vot  I  can  trust  I 
gif  you  a  chance  to  make  ten  dollars.  See? 
You  scratch  my  back,  I  scratch  yours.  You  get 
der  idea?  You  do  me  a  favour  unt  I  do  vun  for 
you.  Only  I  must  trust  you." 


52  With  the  Best  Intention 

With  his  arm  extended  ceilingward  Lapido- 
witz  swore  that  he  could  he  trusted. 

"Listen,"  said  Luharsky.  "Mrs.  Lubin  vot 
lives  on  Delancy  Street — she  iss  a  vidder,  you 
know — six  times  I  ask  her  to  marry  me,  unt  al- 
vays  she  says  no.  Because  v'y?  Because  she 
says  she  don 't  care  to  get  married  no  more.  If 
she  gets  married,  she  says  I  am  der  best  vun 
unt  she  marries  me.  But  she  guesses  it  'a  better 
maybe  not  to  marry  nobody.  Now,  you  go  unt 
haf  a  talk  vit'  her  unt  tell  her  it's  better  to  get 
married.  If  you  talk  haf  so  good  vit*  her  as 
you  talk  vit'  me,  ve  get  married  right  avay. 
Den  I  gif  you  ten  dollars  unt  maybe,  somet'ing 
extra.  Iss  it  a  bargain!" 

It  was  a  bargain.  Although  Lapidowitz  had 
never  laid  eyes  on  the  woman,  he  did  not  even 
pause  to  ask  for  a  letter  of  introduction.  Lapi- 
dowitz always  introduced  himself.  He 
hastened  to  the  widow  Lubin.  When  he  beheld 
her  he  gasped.  This  beautiful  dark-eyed  crea- 
ture marry  Lubarsky?  Perish  the  thought! 
And  she  must  be  well-to-do !  The  carpets  were 
of  fine  quality,  and  the  furniture  looked  expen- 
sive. 

"Mrs.  Lubin,"  said  Lapidowitz,  with  his  most 
winning  smile,  "I  haf  come  from  Mister  Lubar- 


'I   haf   come  from  Mister  Lubarsky.     Ve  are  great   friends,  unt 
he  is  so  anxious  to  get  married   vit'  you" 


Lapidowitz 's  List  53 

sky.  Ve  are  great  friends,  unt  lie  is  so  anx- 
ious to  get  married  vit'  you  dot  he  asks  me  to 
see  you  unt  tell  him  if  he  ain't  right." 

"He  iss  too  fresh,"  said  Mrs.  Lubin,  with 
twinkling  eyes.  "But  maybe  if  you  sit  down  I 
make  a  cup  of  tea  for  you!" 

While  Mrs.  Lubin  was  preparing  the  tea, 
Lapidowitz  figured  that  the  furnishings  of  the 
sitting-room  were  worth  at  least  $350  at  a  forced 
sale.  And  then  an  idea  came  to  him. 

"Mrs.  Lubin,"  he  said,  when  she  returned, 
"v'en  I  go  back  to  my  friend  Lubarsky  I  gif 
him  a  t'ousand  thanks  for  der  opportunity 
uf  laying  my  eyes  on  such  a  face.  Ach!  I 
am  a  lonely  man!  Ladies  vit'  beautiful  faces 
iss  not  for  me!"  And  he  sighed  a  heavy 
sigh. 

Mrs.  Lubin  was  very  sympathetic.  "Don't 
you  ever  go  by  der  the-yater?"  she  asked.  "I 
hear  der  iss  a  lufly  play  in  Grand  Street  vot  iss 
called  'Der  Rose  uf  Sharon.'  Maybe  if  you  see 
it  der  loneliness  vill  go  avay.  I  haf  never  seen 
it." 

"Iss  it  too  much  if  I  ask  you  to  go  vit'  me 
unt  ve  forget  our  loneliness  togedder?"  asked 
Lapidowitz  audaciously. 

Mrs.  Lubin  beamed  upon  him.    "You  haf  der 


54  With  the  Best  Intention 

kindest  heart  uf  any  man  I  know,"  she  said. 
' '  I  am  crazy  to  go.  Ve  go  to-night. ' ' 

Was  there  a  ray  of  tenderness  in  the  glance 
that  she  bestowed  upon  Lapidowitz  or  did  he 
only  imagine  it  ?  At  any  rate,  his  heart  beat  a 
trifle  faster.  He  rose. 

"I  go  now  unt  get  der  tickets,"  he  said. 
"To-night  at  eight  o'clock  I  call  for  you." 

As  soon  as  he  had  reached  the  sidewalk 
Lapidowitz  consulted  his  list.  "I  guess  Sam- 
mis  iss  der  nearest,"  he  said.  "He  iss  good 
for  two  dollars." 

"Sammis,"  he  said,  when  he  had  located  his 
victim,  "I  haf  der  greatest  need  uf  five  dollars. 
You  are  der  friend  uf  my  life.  As  der  Talmud 
says,  'He  who  gifs  vit'  a  open  heart — '  " 

"Never  mind  der  Talmud,"  said  Sammis, 
drawing  a  greasy  wallet  from  his  pocket. 
"Here  iss  two  dollars  unt  not  a  cent  more,, 
Talmud  or  no  Talmud.  Unt  don't  come  again 
dis  year." 

From  two  other  sources  Lapidowitz  borrowed 
fifty  cents,  and  at  the  appointed  time,  presented 
himself  at  the  Widow  Lubin's  with  the  theatre 
tickets  in  his  pocket.  When  he  beheld  her  at- 
tired in  holiday  raiment,  he  gazed  at  her  speech- 
less for  a  moment.  Then, 


Lapidowitz 's  List  55 

"In  your  Shabbas  clothes,  lady,"  said  he, 
"you  look  like  a  angel." 

"Oh,  you  men  say  such  nice  things!"  replied 
the  widow. 

During  the  climax  of  the  performance  her 
hand,  quite  accidentally,  fell  upon  that  of 
Lapidowitz,  and  the  touch  thrilled  him. 

"Maybe,  to-morrow  night,"  he  whispered, 
"you  come  unt  have  supper  vit'  me?  Yes?" 

"At  Shinkman's?  Vare  alvays  der  roast 
goose  iss  so  good?  Vit'  pleasure!"  responded 
the  widow. 

Did  Lapidowitz  only  imagine  it  or  did  sfce 
actually  bestow  upon  his  hand  the  tiniest  little 
squeeze?  At  any  rate,  the  following  morning 
Lapidowitz,  after  going  over  his  list,  called 
upon  Gordonsky,  Cohen,  Simkovitch,  and  Gul- 
den and  gathered  two  dollars  and  seventy-five 
cents.  With  this  money  that  evening  he  pur- 
chased more  roast  goose  than  he  had  ever  seen 
before  at  one  time  in  all  his  life. 

As  if  roast  goose  were  the  sesame  that  opened 
the  flood-gates  of  her  heart,  the  widow  Lubin, 
during  this  meal,  confided  to  Lapidowitz  the 
story  of  her  life  and  the  yearnings  of  her  inner- 
most soul.  Why  is  it  that  a  square  meal  usu- 
ally overcomes  a  woman's  natural  reticence? 


56  WitK  the  Best  Intention 

What  is  there  in  common  between  a  sirloin 
steak  and  a  woman's  soul-strings?  If  all  the 
sirloin  steaks  and  broiled  blue-fish  that  ever 
were  served  to  a  man  and  woman,  tete-a-tete, 
were  to  reveal  the  confidences  they  overheard, 
en  passant,  what  an  encyclopedia  of  feminine 
psychology  it  would  make! 

These,  however,  are  only  the  speculations  of 
the  narrator.  They  did  not  enter  Lapidowitz's 
head.  Lapidowitz,  that  afternoon,  had  learned 
that  the  late  Mr.  Lubin  had  left  his  widow  two 
tenement  houses,  and  tenement  houses  inter- 
ested Lapidowitz  more  than  philosophy. 

"You  like  Mister  Lubarsky?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

The  widow  laid  down  the  breast-bone  of  a 
goose  and  looked  straight  into  Lapidowitz's 
eyes.  "I  hate  him!"  she  said. 

Lapidowitz  was  happy.  "Listen,  Mrs.  Lu- 
bin— Esther,  dot  iss  your  name,  ain'd  it?  Gor- 
donsky  told  me  he  seen  it  on  a  mortgage  vunce ! 
Dere  iss  somet'ing  I  vould  like  to  say." 

"Not  to-night,  Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  said  the 
widow  hastily.  * '  Not  to-night.  Pl-e-e-e-ease ! '  ' 
(Don't  all  women  do  that  well!)  "For  my 
sake.  Day  after  to-morrow  I  go  out  for  a  car- 


Lapidowitz 's  List  57 

riage  ride  vit'  yon  if  you  like,  unt  den  you  can 
tell  me.  But  not  to-night ! '  ' 

There's  another  thing!  How  do  they  sense 
it  so  far  off? 

"A  carriage  ride?"  said  Lapidowitz,  slightly 
dazed. 

"Sure,"  said  the  widow  eagerly.  "Ve  go 
for  a  nice  ride  in  der  Central  Park — you  unt 
me,  alone — unt  you  tell  me  efryt'ing  you  know 
about  yourself!" 

The  beaming,  melting,  soulful  glance  that  ac- 
companied this  declaration  almost  made  Lapido- 
witz's  heart  stop  working. 

"Dot's  a  good  idea!"  he  said.  "At  two 
o'clock  I  come  vit'  a  carriage  to  your  house !" 

"Not  to  my  house,"  said  the  widow  hastily. 
"Come  here — in  front  uf  Shinkman's — unt 
vait!  You  know  how  efrybody  talks  if  a  car- 
riage comes  to  my  house!" 

They  refused  to  let  Lapidowitz  have  a  car- 
riage for  less  than  seven  dollars,  and  when 
one  o'clock  came  Lapidowitz  had  raised  only 
five  dollars  and  had  almost  exhausted  his  list. 
But  time  was  flying  and  he  could  scurry 
around  no  longer.  At  two  o'clock  he  was  sit- 
ting in  the  carriage  in  front  of  Shinkman's. 


58  With  the  Best  Intention 

People  stopped  to  look  at  him.  Except  in 
cases  of  funerals  and  weddings,  carriages  rarely 
stand  for  any  length  of  time  in  front  of  houses 
on  the  East  Side. 

The  carriage  waited  nearly  an  hour.  Then 
Lapidowitz  said  to  the  driver, 

"You  vait  here  unt  I  go  'round  der  corner 
to  see  vot  keeps  der  lady." 

"I'll  drive  ye  around,"  said  the  driver 
curtly. 

So  he  drove  "him  around.  And  Mrs.  Lubin 
was  not  at  home. 

"Say,"  said  the  driver,  "the  longer  I  wait 
the  more  it'll  cost.  Don't  ye  want  to  take  that 
drive  around  the  park?" 

"Alone?"  asked  Lapidowitz.  "Vot's  der 
use!  Vait  a  minute." 

He  consulted  his  list.  He  had  exhausted 
nearly  all  its  possibilities  excepting  Lubarsky. 
The  ten  dollars  next  to  Lubar  sky's  name  stood 
out  in  monumental  bigness.  What  could  be 
keeping  the  widow?  An  idea  suddenly  came  to 
him.  He  would  need  more  money  anyway. 
He  entered  Shinkman's. 

"If  comes  a  lady  to  ask  for  me,"  said  he, 
"I  come  right  back.  Tell  her  to  vait."  And 
to  the  driver.  "To  Mister  Lubar  sky's,  the 


Lapidowitz's  List  59 

real-estater,"  he  said,  settling  back  comfort- 
ably on  the  cushioned  seat. 

A  red-haired,  freckled-faced  boy  greeted  him 
in  Lubar sky's  office.  "Mister  Lubarsky  ?"  he 
repeated.  "Heain'd!  Heissout!" 

"Out  vare?"  asked  Lapidowitz  impatiently. 

The  boy  looked  at  the  office  clock.  "Vare  he 
iss  now  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Ten  minutes 
ago  he  was  getting  married  by  der  rabbi's !" 

Lapidowitz,  a  chill  creeping  down  his  spine, 
stared  at  the  lad.  "Getting  married V9  he  re- 
peated. "Vif  who?" 

"Some  vidow  lady,"  said  the  boy. 

Lapidowitz  took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow.  Then  he  fanned 
himself  with  his  hat  and  loosened  his  collar  to 
relieve  the  sensation  of  choking  that  had  sud- 
denly come  over  him.  Then,  "V'en  comes  back 
Mister  Lubarsky,"  he  said,  very  slowly  and  der 
liberately,  "you  tell  him  dot  Mister  Lapidowitz 
vos  here.  Tint  say  dot  Mister  Lapidowitz  says 
dot  Mister  Lubarsky  iss  a  loafer  unt  a  swin- 
dler!" 

"Where  to?"  asked  the  driver,  when  Lapido- 
witz had  flung  himself  into  the  carriage. 

"To  Milken's  coffee-house  on  Essex  Street," 
said  Lapidowitz. 


60  With  the  Best  Intention 

A  few  minutes  later  he  had  his  hands  on 
Milken's  shoulders.  "My  friend, "  he  said 
solemnly,  "you  know  how  I  feel  about  you! 
You  know  how  nefer  before  I  haf  borrowed 
money  off'n  you.  You  know  vot  says  der  Tal- 
mud about — " 

"Nefer  mind  all  dot,"  said  Milken.  "How 
much  iss  der  smallest?" 

"T'ree  dollars  I  got  to  haf!"  said  Lapido- 
witz. 

Milken  went  to  the  cash-drawer  and  took  out 
three  dollars.  "I  don't  see,"  he  remarked  sar- 
castically, "v'y  you  come  to  me  for  free  dol- 
lars so  long  as  you  haf  on  der  list  a  rich  man 
like  Lubarsky." 

"Lubarsky,"  said  Lapidowitz  haughtily,  "iss 
off  der  list!" 


IV 

"From  Him  That  Hath  Not" 

LAPIDOWITZ  sat  in  Milken's  coffee-house 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up.  Lapid- 
owitz  was  "on  his  uppers."  That  is  hardly 
what  you  would  call  a  pretty  figure  of  speech, 
but  it  conveys  an  accurate  and  comprehensive 
idea  of  Lapidowitz's  condition.  His  credit 
among  his  friends  was  exhausted — even  Milken 
was  beginning  to  grumble  at  the  amount  of 
coffee  and  cake  that  Lapidowitz's  unpaid  ac- 
count represented — and  the  schnorrer,  plunged 
in  gloom,  was  at  last  face  to  face  with  the  pain- 
ful necessity  of  going  to  work. 

Then  Janowski,  the  coal-dealer,  entered  the 
coffee-house,  nodded  smilingly  to  Lapidowitz, 
and  seated  himself  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room.  Janowski  wore  a  diamond  scarf-pin  and 
jingled  when  he  walked.  Lapidowitz  hated 
Janowski.  He  hated  his  unvarying  air  of  pros- 
perity. He  hated  the  clink  of  the  loose  change 
that  Janowski  carried  in  every  pocket  He 

61 


62  With  the  Best  Intention 

hated  Janowski's  calmness,  his  smile,  his  air 
of  confidence.  The  secret  of  his  bitter  detesta- 
tion was  that  he  owed  Janowski  two  dollars, 
had  owed  them  for  two  months,  and  had  never 
since  been  able  to  borrow  any  more. 

So  Lapidowitz  would  sit  and  glare  at  Janow- 
ski, and  his  thoughts  would  run  like  this : 

* '  Curses  on  my  luck  1  Why  should  I  be  poor 
and  he  be  rich?  I  am  smarter  than  he  is,  and 
superior  to  him  in  every  way,  yet  here  I  am  with 
no  better  prospect  than  to  go  to  work  in  a  tailor 
shop,  while  he  does  not  know  what  to  do  with 
all  the  money  he  makes.  Curses  on  my  luck!" 

Janowski,  blissfully  ignorant  of  the  injustice 
of  fate,  sipped  his  coffee  in  peace.  When  he 
had  finished  he  drew  from  his  inside  pocket  a 
thick  roll  of  bills,  paid  for  his  coffee,  and  swept 
the  change  into  his  trousers  pockets.  Then, 
with  a  nod  to  Lapidowitz  and  a  pleasant  smile, 
he  walked,  jingling  as  he  went,  out  of  the  place. 

Lapidowitz  sighed,  lit  a  fresh  cigarette,  and 
waited  for  something  to  turn  up. 

"Wait — wait  patiently,"  says  the  Talmud, 
"and  something  is  sure  to  turn  up."  You  may 
be  pleased,  or  you  may  be  disappointed,  but, 
nevertheless,  something  will  turn  up.  Lapido- 
witz waited — waited  patiently,  and  one  after- 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"        63 

noon  something  turned  up.  It  was  the  unex- 
pected. The  unexpected  comes  to  all  of  us  once 
or  twice  in  a  lifetime,  and,  usually,  we  bungle  it. 
The  postman  brought  Lapidowitz  a  letter 
from  Russia.  It  ran: 

Worthy  Sir: 

My  dear  uncle  Isidore  Malakoff  died  in  Minsk  last 
week.  In  his  will  he  left  all  his  silverware  to  Mrs. 
Raviner,  his  former  housekeeper.  We  found  that 
Mrs.  Raviner  died  many  years  ago  and  that  you  are 
her  only  living  relative.  So  please  let  me  know  what 
you  wish  done  with  the  silverware.  We  can  send  it 
to  you  if  you  will  pay  for  the  transportation  or  we 
can  sell  it  here  at  the  best  price  and  send  you  the 
money. 

With  the  highest  esteem,  yours, 

SAMUEL  MALAKOFF. 

For  a  full  five  minutes  Lapidowitz  sat  trans- 
ported to  the  supreme  heights  of  bliss.  At  last 
fate  had  recognised  his  merits  and  was  prepared 
to  do  him  justice.  Then,  slowly,  he  came  down 
to  earth,  and  began  to  calculate.  He  had  never 
in  his  life  heard  of  Malakoff,  but  he  remem- 
bered, dimly,  that  either  his  mother  or  his 
father  had  had  an  aunt  named  Raviner  whom, 
to  the  best  of  his  recollection,  he  had  never  seen. 

But  the  silverware — how  much  was  it  worth? 


64  With  the  Best  Intention 

Was  it  one  of  those  wonderful  collections,  the 
accumulation  of  generations,  that,  he  so  fre- 
quently read  in  the  newspapers,  brought  fabu- 
lous prices  at  sales?  Or — no,  it  would  never 
do  to  speculate  upon  the  possibility  of  a  disap- 
pointment. It  was  surely  worth  five  hundred 
dollars.  No  silverware  worth  leaving  in  a  will 
could  possibly  be  worth  less.  Two  hundred 
dollars,  anyway — and  even  one  hundred  dollars 
would  be  sufficient  to  change  the  whole  current 
of  his  life. 

His  dream  of  a  year  had  been  to  open  an  ac- 
count in  Goldsinger's  bank  on  Grand  Street 
and  sign  checks  with  a  long,  heavy  flourish  to 
his  signature. 

But  Eussia  was  far  off,  and  several  weeks 
must  elapse  before  he  could  receive  his  inheri- 
tance. Lapidowitz  hastily  made  a  list  of  his 
friends  who  would  be  likely  to  advance  him 
some  money  on  the  strength  of  his  new  pros- 
pects. It  seemed  easy.  How  could  any  one 
refuse  money  to  a  man  who  had  inherited  a  col- 
lection of  silverware?  He  set  forth  bravely 
and  called  upon  Gordonsky. 

"Not  one  cent,"  said  Gordonsky. 

"But  the  silverware  is  worth  a  thousand  dol- 
lars," said  Lapidowitz. 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"        65 

•"I  don't  care  if  it's  worth  a  million,"  replied 
Gordonsky.  "For  two  years  I  have  lent  you 
money.  When  you  hegin  to  pay,  then  we  will 
talk.  Not  before.  Better  go  to  work." 

He  tried  Lubarsky.  Lubarsky  read  the  let- 
ter carefully. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  this  silverware?"  he 
asked. 

"Sure  I  have,"  said  Lapidowitz  glibly. 
* '  The  way  it  shines  is  wonderful.  It 's  the  finest 
collection  of  silverware  in  Russia." 

"All  right,"  said  Lubarsky.  "Get  it  over  to 
New  York  and  I  will  look  at  it.  Then  we  will 
talk  business." 

Lapidowitz  tried  nearly  every  one  he  knew, 
and  finally  returned  to  Milken's  coffee-house, 
dejected. 

* '  Fools ! "  he  exclaimed.  * '  When  I  had  noth- 
ing they  made  no  fuss  about  lending  me  a  few 
dollars.  Now  that  I  am  rich  they  will  not 
lend  me  a  penny.  But  how  they  will  come 
crawling  around  when  I  come  into  my  inherit- 
ance." 

And  at  that  moment  Janowski  came  jingling 
into  the  coffee-house,  nodded  smilingly  to  Lapi- 
dowitz, and  seated  himself  at  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room.  Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him  for  a 


66  With  the  Best  Intention 

long  time.  Then  he  crossed  the  room  and  sat 
down  at  Janowski's  table. 

"Mr.  Janowski,"  he  began,  "I  have  a  busi- 
ness proposition." 

"Indeed?"  said  Janowski.  "You  owe  me 
two  dollars." 

Lapidowitz  cast  a  look  of  reproach  upon  him. 
"I  am  surprised,"  he  said,  "that  a  big  man  like 
you  should  talk  of  such  little  things." 

"Business,"  said  Janowski,  "is  all  little 
things.  You  owe  me  two  dollars  for  a  long 
time. ' ' 

Without  a  word  Lapidowitz  handed  him  the 
letter  he  had  received. 

"Who  is  this  Samuel  Malakoff?"  asked  Ja- 
nowski. 

"Samuel  Malakoff!"  repeated  Lapidowitz 
airily.  "Why,  he's  the  nephew  of  the  famous 
silverware  collector — old  Malakoff.  Did  you 
never  hear  of  him!" 

Janowski  read  the  letter  again  and  handed  it 
back  to  the  schnorrer.  "Well,  what  is  your 
proposition?"  he  asked. 

"Mr.  Janowski,"  said  Lapidowitz,  in  his  most 
earnest  tone,  "listen  to  me.  I  am  going  to  write 
to  Russia  to  sell  the  collection  and  send  me  the 
money.  In  a  few  weeks  I  will  be  rich  and  have 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"        67 

an  account  in  Goldsinger's  bank.  But  now  I 
need  some  money.  If  I  had  money  now  I  could 
buy  myself  some  nice  clothes.  Then  I  could 
get  a  job  by  Mr.  Rosen  the  fire  insurance  man, 
who  says  I'm  a  great  fellow  for  going  out  and 
getting  fire  insurance.  But  he  won't  give  me  a 
job  unless  I  have  nice  clothes.  A  bum,  he  says, 
is  no  use  in  the  insurance  business.  So  if  you 
will  let  me  have  fifty  dollars  now — forty  dollars 
—thirty  would  be  enough — to-morrow  I  get 
the  job  and  so  soon  as  the  money  comes 
over  I  will  give  you  a  check  on  Goldsinger's 
bank." 

Janowsld  fumbled  in  his  pockets  for  a  while 
and  drew  out  a  sheet  of  blank  paper  which  he 
handed  to  Lapidowitz. 

" Write  first,"  he  said,  "  *I  owe  Mr.  Janow- 
ski  two  dollars,'  and  put  your  name  under  it. 
Then  we  talk  business." 

Lapidowitz,  in  haughty  silence,  wrote  the 
statement  and  signed  it. 

"Now,"  said  Janowski,  handing  Lapidowitz 
another  sheet  of  paper,  "write,  'I  owe  Mr.  Ja- 
nowski thirty  dollars  which  I  promise  honestly 
to  give  him  a  check  for  as  soon  as  I  get  money 
from  Russia.'  " 

Lapidowitz  joyfully  wrote  this  promise  and, 


68  With  the  Best  Intention 

handing  it  to  Janowski,  received  from  him 
thirty  dollars. 

"Now,  Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  said  Janowski, 
"you're  a  smart  man,  and  I'd  like  to  see  you 
get  along,  only,  when  it  comes  to  business,  they 
all  say  you  borrow  but  don't  pay.  What  they 
say,  though,  makes  no  difference  to  me.  All  I 
know  is  you  owe  me  two  dollars  for  a  long  time, 
and  you  never  paid  a  cent.  This  time,  when 
you  get  your  money  in  the  bank,  you  pay.  If 
you  don't  pay — don't  worry.  I  will  get  the 
money.  I  am  a  smart  man,  too." 

The  next  day  Lapidowitz  issued  forth  in  a 
wonderfully  brilliant  silk  hat,  a  new  Prince 
Isaac  coat,  new  shoes,  a  new  scarf,  a  heavy 
watch-chain,  and  a  gorgeous  scarf-pin.  How 
he  managed  to  do  it  all  on  thirty  dollars  was 
little  short  of  miraculous.  He  applied  to  Rosen 
for  the  promised  position. 

A  few  days  later  he  handed  Milken  one  of  his 
new  cards.  "Abraham  Lapidowitz,  Fire  Insur- 
ance Agent,"  it  read. 

Milken  gazed  at  him  in  awe.  "You  will  be 
getting  rich,"  he  said. 

"Sure,"  said  Lapidowitz.  "And  if  you  lend 
me  two  dollars  you  are  sure  of  getting  back 
everything  I  owe  you  soon." 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"        69 

Milken  lent  him  the  two  dollars,  and  that  was 
the  last  that  Milken  saw  of  him  for  three  weeks. 
That  very  day  Lapidowitz  received  a  draft 
from  Eussia  for  forty-two  dollars.  The  accom- 
panying letter,  declaring  that  "I  obtained  a 
good  price  for  the  silverware,"  he  tore  into  a 
hundred  bits.  All  that  evening  he  sat  in  his 
room  bewailing  his  luck. 

The  next  day  he  cashed  the  draft  at  Gold- 
singer's  bank  and  opened  an  account.  Then 
he  devoted  himself  to  soliciting  fire  insurance 
business. 

After  a  few  days  it  seemed  to  Lapidowitz  as 
if  every  house  on  the  East  Side  had  been  in- 
sured from  time  immemorial  and  that  all  the 
insurance  policies  still  had  a  thousand  years  to 
run.  Nobody  wanted  to  be  insured.  Every 
man  he  approached  carried  more  insurance  than 
he  had  any  use  for.  The  very  bottom  seemed 
to  have  dropped  out  of  the  insurance  business. 
And  gradually  his  forty-two  dollar  inheritance 
dwindled  to  thirty-two.  Several  times  he  had 
received  a  postal-card  from  Janowski  asking 
him  whether  he  had  received  his  money  from 
Eussia,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  any  of  them. 
Then  one  day  Eosen  said  to  him : 

"That  fellow  Janowski  has  bought  a  new 


70  With  the  Best  Intention 

house.    Maybe  you  can  get  him  to  insure.    He 
don't  like  me,  so  it's  no  use  if  I  go." 

Lapidowitz  took  a  long  walk  to  think  it  over. 
Several  times  he  took  his  check-book  from 
his  pocket  and  studied  the  figures  on  the 
stubs.  Then,  suddenly,  a  broad  grin  illumi- 
nating his  face,  he  strode  into  Janowski's 
office. 

There  was  an  outer  office  where  a  red-haired, 
red-eyed,  and  red-nosed  clerk  sat  leaning 
against  a  wooden  partition. 

"I  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Janowski,"  said 
Lapidowitz.  The  clerk  winked  and,  with  his 
thumb,  indicated  the  door  that  led  through  the 
partition.  In  the  compartment  beyond,  Lapi- 
dowitz found  Janowski  seated  at  a  desk  that 
stood  against  the  partition. 

"Hello,  Lapidowitz, ' >  exclaimed  Janowski 
cordially.  "It  is  a  great  pleasure.  What  a 
warm  day  it  is ! " 

Lapidowitz  deposited  his  silk  hat  upon  a 
bookcase  and,  seating  himself  beside  the  desk, 
plunged  into  business.  * '  I  have  been  so  terribly 
busy,"  he  said,  "or  I  would  have  come  long  be- 
fore. Because  I  like  you  very  much,  Mr.  Ja- 
nowski. I  heard  to-day  that  you  have  bought 
a  new  house.  So  I  came  to  see  if  you  wouldn't 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"        71 

like  some  fire  insurance.  You  know  it's  terrible 
the  way  houses  burn  down  if  there's  a  fire." 

"Sure,"  said  Janowski,  nodding,  "but  busi- 
ness before  pleasure.  Thirty  dollars  you  owe 
me  and  two  dollars,  and  Mr.  Goldsinger  says 
you  have  an  account  in  the  bank.  So  first  comes 
a  check.  Then  we  talk  fire  insurance." 

"A  check?"  repeated  Lapidowitz. 

"Sure.  Didn't  you  give  a  promise?  Ain't 
you  a  man  of  your  word?  Sure  you  are.  A 
check  for  thirty-two  dollars,  and  then  we  talk 
fire  insurance.  And  we  talk  big  fire  insurance, 
too,  because  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  for 
two  days." 

Lapidowitz  swallowed  several  lumps  that 
clustered  in  his  throat. 

"The  silverware — "  he  began. 

Janowski  waved  his  hand. 

"Never  mind  about  the  silverware.  You  got 
forty-two  dollars  for  it.  Ain't  it?  I  didn't 
think  it  would  bring  so  much. ' ' 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him,  speechless.  Then, 
desperately,  he  drew  out  his  check-book  and 
wrote  out  a  check  for  thirty  dollars.  "I  was 
keeping  it  for  a  rainy  day,"  he  said,  "but  I  am 
an  honest  man,  and  I  promised  to  pay  it.  Only 
the  two  dollars  I  will  owe  you  for  a  while." 


72  With  the  Best  Intention 

"Sure,"  said  Janowski,  good-naturedly. 
"As  long  as  you  are  a  man  of  your  word  I 
know  I  will  get  my  two  dollars.  Besides,  I  told 
you  I  was  a  very  smart  man." 

He  indorsed  the  check  and,  with  great  care, 
thrust  it  into  one  of  the  pigeonholes  of  his  desk. 
Then,  with  a  portentous  cough,  he  turned  to 
Lapidowitz. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Lapidowitz,  I  like  you.  Why, 
I  don't  know.  If  I  believe  what  every  one  says 
about  you — your  best  friends,  too — you  are  no 
good  at  all.  And,  what's  more,  I  believe  it,  too. 
You  borrow  from  everybody  and  never  pay, 
and  you  won't  let  anybody  help  you  because 
you  hate  to  work.  Now  I  know  a  nice  place 
where  you  can  get  a  good  job.  A  friend  of  mine 
has  a  clothing-house — " 

"Mr.  Janowski,"  said  Lapidowitz  haughtily, 
"I  am  a  fire  insurance  agent.  Let  us  talk  busi- 
ness." 

"Sure,"  said  Janowski.  "Now  we  talk  fire 
insurance.  But  I  only  just  want  to  say  that 
when  you  make  up  your  mind  to  do  some  real 
work  and  not  be  a  schnorrer  living  on  your 
friends,  I  will  be  glad  to  help  you." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.    Then  he  grinned. 

"Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  he  said,  "I  paid  twenty- 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"       73 

five  thousand  dollars  for  the  house  I  bought. 
There  is  a  mortgage  on  it  for  twenty-one  thou- 
sand dollars  and  a  second  mortgage  for  two 
thousand  dollars,  and,  would  you  "believe  it,  that 
house  is  insured  for  twenty-eight  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  I'm  paying  nearly  as  much  for  the 
insurance  as  I'm  getting  out  of  rents,  because 
only  one  family  lives  in  the  house. ' ' 

For  a  second  Lapidowitz  tried  to  overcome 
the  choking  sensation  that  suddenly  seized  him. 
"Swindler!"  he  cried.  "Give  me  hack  my 
check." 

"Your  check?"  said  Janowski  in  surprise. 
"My  check,  you  mean.  Oh,  yes.  I  know  what 
you  want." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  Lapidowitz 's  prom- 
ise to  pay  back  the  thirty  dollars  and  handed  it 
to  him.  Lapidowitz  tore  it  into  shreds. 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Janowski,"  he  said.  "I 
just  go  to  the  bank  and  tell  them  not  to  pay  the 
check.  So  you  see  you  ain't  so  smart,  after 
all." 

Janowski  grinned. 

"Come  here,"  he  said,  "and  look  where  I  put 
your  check." 

Lapidowitz,  amazed,  leaned  forward  and 
gazed  into  the  pigeonhole  where  he  had  seen 


74  With  the  Best  Intention 

Janowski  place  the  check.  He  could  see  day- 
light. In  the  back  of  the  compartment  was  a 
hole  that  extended  clear  through  the  partition. 

" Sometimes,"  said  Janowski,  even  before 
Lapidowitz's  mind  had  grasped  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  situation,  "come  swindlers.  So  I 
put  the  check  through  the  hole,  and  I  guess  by 
this  time  my  clerk  is  at  the  bank  to  get  the 
money. ' ' 

Then,  with  an  exclamation  of  rage,  Lapido- 
witz,  forgetting  even  his  hat,  rushed  out  of  the 
place. 

"Remember,"  Janowski  called  after  him,  "I 
like  you." 

But  Lapidowitz  did  not  hear.  He  ran  all  the 
way  to  the  bank. 

"A  check?"  the  cashier  said.  "Wait  a 
minute.  Yes.  Sure.  Payable  to  Janowski. 
Thirty  dollars.  His  clerk  was  just  in  to  cash 
it." 

"Then  it's  too  late?"  asked  Lapidowitz. 

"Too  late?    For  what?" 

But  Lapidowitz  did  not  answer.  Muttering 
imprecations  upon  the  bank,  upon  checks,  and 
upon  Janowski,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
coal-dealer's  office  where  he  had  left  his  hat. 
The  red-haired,  red-eyed,  and  red-nosed  clerk 


"From  Him  That  Hath  Not"       75 

sat    leaning    against    the    wooden    partition. 
When  he  beheld  Lapidowitz  he  smiled. 

' 'Mr.  Janowski  has  just  went  out,"  he  said 
with  a  grin. 

"I  come  for  my  hat,"  said  Lapidowitz. 

"Oh,  your  hat.  That  was  very  funny  about 
your  hat. ' ' 

The  clerk  paused  and  laughed,  and  Lapido- 
witz, a  sense  of  impending  calamity  sending 
chills  down  his  spine,  stared  at  him. 

"Bight  after  you  ran  out  comes  an  old- 
clothes  man  and  asks  Mr.  Janowski  if  he  has 
any  old  hats  to  sell.  So  Mr.  Janowski  looks 
around  his  office  and  sees  a  silk  hat.  And  he 
sells  it  for  a  dollar.  After  the  man  has  went 
Mr.  Janowski  says  to  me,  'I  have  made  a  terri- 
ble mistake,'  he  says.  *I  sold  Mr.  Lapidowitz 's 
hat,  thinking  it  was  mine ! '  So  then  he  says,  as 
long  as  it's  his  fault,  he  is  willing  to  lose  by  it. 
So  he  gives  me  this  paper  to  give  you." 

Whereupon  the  clerk  handed  Lapidowitz  the 
I.  0.  U.  for  two  dollars  that  he  had  given  to 
Janowski. 

Lapidowitz  stared  at  him.  Several  times  his 
lips  moved  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak.  Once 
or  twice  his  arm  moved  as  if  he  were  contem- 
plating assault  upon  the  red-haired  clerk.  Fi- 


76  With  the  Best  Intention 

nally  he  sighed  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the 
place.  When  he  reached  his  room  he  found  a 
note  from  Janowski. 

"The  man  I  spoke  ahout  who  has  got  a  job 
for  yon,'*  it  ran,  "is  Harris,  who  keeps  the 
clothing- store  on  Rivington  Street,  near  Es- 
sex." 


Lapidowitz  Lapses 

GORDONSKY,  coming  home  unexpectedly 
one  afternoon,  caught  Moishe,  his  four- 
teen-year-old offspring,  smoking  a  cigarette. 
That  night  there  was  wailing  and  lamentation 
in  the  household  of  Gordonsky.  Moishe 's 
mother  wept  because  her  only  child  was  on  the 
highroad  to  perdition. 

Gordonsky  groaned  in  spirit  to  think  that  the 
idol  of  his  heart  had  fallen  into  the  ways  of 
Goyim,  because,  in  those  days,  cigarette-smok- 
ing had  not  taken  such  strong  hold  upon  the 
chosen  people  of  the  East  Side.  Even  Lapido- 
witz, the  schnorrer,  dropping  in  for  a  free  even- 
ing meal,  clucked  many  a  reproachful  "Ts! 
Ts ! "  at  Moishe  and  shook  his  head  quite  sadly 
over  the  lad's  depravity.  Moishe  alone  wailed 
for  purely  material  reasons. 

The  matter  was  discussed  for  several  days 
from  every  conceivable  standpoint.  Gordon- 
sky  consulted  the  rabbi  and  the  sweatshop  boss 

77 


78  With  the  Best  Intention 

for  whom  he  worked.  And  the  upshot  of  it  all 
was  the  decision,  concurred  in  by  all,  that 
Moishe  had  completed  his  education  and  was 
fully  equipped  for  work. 

"School,"  said  Gordonsky,  "is  not  a  place 
for  cigarette-smokers." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Moishe  set  forth  one 
day  to  seek  employment,  and  ere  the  day  was 
done  he  had  found  it.  Mandelbaum  &  Kaplan, 
Importers  and  Dealers  in  Wines,  Liquors,  and 
Spirits  of  All  Kinds,  covenanted  with  Moishe 
to  accept  his  services  as  office-boy  at  the  weekly 
wage  of  three  dollars. 

"They're  funny  people,"  said  Moishe,  after 
a  few  days.  "Mr.  Mandelbaum  is  a  great,  big 
man  and  never  says  a  word,  and  Mr.  Kaplan  is 
a  little  bit  of  a  man  and  talks  all  the  time." 

"What  do  you  have  to  do?"  asked  Lapido- 
witz,  who,  as  usual,  had  dropped  in  for  supper. 

"I  sit  in  the  office  and  paste  labels  on  the 
bottles.  They  make  all  kinds  of  things — 
French  brandy  and  wine  and  German  wine  and 
Cream  de  Mint — oh,  everything  they  make  over 
in  the  factory  in  Hoboken.  And  when  anybody 
calls  I  got  to  go  in  and  tell  one  of  the  bosses. 
Also  I  get  the  apples  and  pears  for  the  book- 
keeper, and  sometimes  I  get  a  penny  extra." 


Lapidowitz  Lapses  79 

"And  the  bookkeeper,"  asked  Lapidowitz, 
"how  much  does  he  get?" 

' '  It  ain  't  a  he.  It 's  a  she, ' '  explained  Moishe. 
"Miss  Lazinsky  her  name  is.  She's  terrible 
homely  with  a  glass  eye,  but  she  gets  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week." 

"Twenty-five  dollars?"  repeated  Lapidowitz 
incredulously.  "A  woman  with  a  glass  eye 
earns  so  much?  It's  a  great  country,  ain't  it, 
Gordonsky?" 

Gordonsky  smiled.  "Maybe  some  day  you 
might  marry  her  and  never  have  to  work,"  he 
said  maliciously. 

The  schnorrer  shook  his  head.  "With  a 
glass  eye — never!  But  if  I  could  get  a  nice  job 
in  a  wine  and  liquor  business  I  think  I  would 
be  a  big  success." 

"A  great  success  in  drinking  up  the  business, 
maybe,"  said  Gordonsky  dryly.  "You  and 
work  will  never  live  in  the  same  town." 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Moishe  came  home, 
elated.  "Mr.  Kaplan,"  he  said  to  Lapidowitz, 
' '  says  you  should  come  by  the  office  on  Monday, 
and  maybe  he  got  a  job  for  you." 

"For  me?"  exclaimed  the  schnorrer. 

Moishe  nodded  vigorously.  "I  heard  Mr. 
Mandelbaum  say  for  why  in  blazes  somebody 


80  With  the  Best  Intention 

didn't  keep  the  stock-room  in  order,  and  Mr. 
Kaplan  says  every  time*he  gets  a  man  he  drinks 
up  all  the  bottles  and  don't  do  nothing,  so  he 
gave  it  up  for  a  bad  job,  only  it's  a  pity  he 
couldn't  find  a  good  man  because  it's  a  chance 
for  him  to  work  his  way  up  in  the  business,  and 
I  says  to  him,  'Mr.  Kaplan,'  I  says,  'I  know  a 
man  what  would  like  a  good  job  in  the  wine  and 
liquor  business,'  and  he  says,  'What's  his 
name?'  and  I  says,  'Mr.  Lapidowitz, '  and  he 
says,  'For  heaven's  sake  send  him  around.' ' 

On  the  following  Monday  morning  Mr.  Man- 
delbaum  and  Mr.  Kaplan  were  regaled  with 
a  view  of  Lapidowitz.  Mr.  Mandelbaum 
promptly  retreated  to  an  inner  office.  Mr. 
Kaplan  remained  to  gaze  wonderingly  upon  the 
tall,  imposing  figure,  long  bearded  and  dignified 
of  mien,  silk-hatted  and  frock-coated,  that 
stood  before  him.  Finally  he  scratched  his 
head. 

"We  only  intended  to  pay  six  dollars  a 
week,"  he  said,  in  English. 

"Dot's  enough  for  a  commencer,"  said  La- 
pidowitz, with  a  smirk. 

And  then,  with  great  swiftness,  Mr.  Kaplan 
realised  what  he  had  to  deal  with.  A  schnorrer, 
you  see,  is,  after  all,  a  schnorrer,  and  the  breed 


Lapidowitz  Lapses  81 

is  quickly  recognised.  Mr.  Kaplan's  manner 
instantly  changed. 

' '  All  right, ' '  he  said,  in  Yiddish.  ' '  Take  that 
pot  off  your  head,  hang  up  your  coat,  and  go 
into  the  stock-room.  Clean  all  the  dust  off  the 
bottles,  and  I'll  be  in  later  to  tell  you  what  to 
do." 

And  Lapidowitz,  bowing  amiably  to  this  rec- 
ognition of  his  status,  entered  upon  his  labours. 
Once  he  came  into  the  outer  office  and  gazed 
for  a  long  time  upon  the  face  of  a  middle-aged 
woman  who  sat  poring  over  a  huge  ledger. 

"Is  that  the  bookkeeper?"  he  whispered  to 
Moishe.  The  lad  nodded. 

Lapidowitz  shuddered.  "It  pains  me  to  look 
at  her, ' '  he  said. 

The  duties  of  Lapidowitz  required  the  ex- 
penditure of  but  little  intellectual  effort.  For 
three  days  he  dusted  shelves,  rearranged  bot- 
tles, and  ran  errands  for  Mr.  Kaplan.  Mr. 
Mandelbaum  seemed  unaware  of  his  existence. 
Then  it  chanced  that  business  called  Mr.  Man- 
delbaum to  Schenectady.  A  customer  in  that 
town  insisted  upon  greater  variety  in  the  colour 
of  Creme  de  Menthe,  promising  quite  a  large 
order  if  Mandelbaum  &  Kaplan  would  produce 
a  blue-,  violet-,  and  an  orange-hued  species. 


82  With  the  Best  Intention 

And  he  had  hardly  hoarded  his  train  when  Mr. 
Kaplan  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  mumps. 
The  administration  of  the  firm's  business  fell 
upon  the  shoulders  of  Moishe,  Lapidowitz,  and 
the  bookkeeper  with  the  glass  eye. 

Lapidowitz  rose  to  the  occasion.  Instead  of 
confining  himself  to  the  stock-room,  he  estab- 
lished himself  at  Mr.  Kaplan's  desk,  and  read 
the  newspapers.  He  sent  Moishe  on  errands, 
and  the  lad  obeyed  promptly.  Ever  and  anon 
he  would  stare  wonderingly  at  Miss  Lazinsky, 
the  bookkeeper,  and  then  would  shake  his  head. 
Once  he  spoke  to  her.  He  told  her  that  it  looked 
like  rain.  Miss  Lazinsky  looked  up  from  her 
book  and  surveyed  Lapidowitz  calmly  from 
head  to  foot.  And  then  she  smiled  and  re- 
sumed her  reading.  Lapidowitz  whistled  to 
keep  up  his  spirits,  and  asked  Moishe  to  run  out 
for  an  evening  newspaper. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Lapidowitz 's 
weather  forecast  came  true.  It  rained.  It 
rained  all  that  night  and  all  the  next  day — a 
steady,  depressing,  and  dreary  downpour  that 
seemed  to  rob  life  of  all  its  joy  and  fill  the  soul 
with  gloomy  foreboding. 

Lapidowitz  was  wet  to  the  skin  when  he  came 
to  the  store  that  next  morning.  The  endless 


Lapidowitz  Lapses  83 

rows  of  bottles  in  the  stock-room  with  their 
multi-coloured  contents  stretched  before  him 
with  a  new  significance.  In  justice  to  Lapido- 
witz this  must  be  made  clear:  he  was  not  a 
drinking  man,  and  liquor  held  no  temptation 
for  him.  But  he  was  cold  and  wet,  and  it  al- 
most seemed  as  if  the  bottles  held  out  %irms 
promising  warmth.  He  selected  one  in  which 
the  cork  sat  loosely,  and  drank  from  it  a  draft 
that  set  his  blood  aglow  and  all  his  nerves 
tingling.  Then,  stroking  his  beard,  he  saun- 
tered into  the  outer  office  and  leaned  noncha- 
lantly against  Miss  Lazinsky's  desk. 

"I  told  you  it  would  rain,"  he  said.  Miss 
Lazinsky  did  not  even  look  up.  But,  unabashed, 
Lapidowitz  fell  into  a  cheerful  monologue  in 
the  course  of  which  it  occurred  to  him  that  a 
glass  eye  was  not  a  whit  unbecoming  to  beauty 
and  that  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  covered  a 
multitude  of  shortcomings.  The  sky  grew 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  Lapidowitz,  mur- 
muring an  apology,  returned  to  the  stock-room 
and  opened  a  bottle  that  was  completely  envel- 
oped in  gold  foil.  He  brought  it  to  the  book- 
keeper's desk  and  urged  her  to  drink. 

" Please  go  away,"  she  said.  "I  am  busy, 
and  you  are  bothering  me." 


84  With  the  Best  Intention 

Lapidowitz  returned  to  the  stock-room  and 
gazed  upon  the  bottles.  He  was  happy.  The 
vigour  and  brilliancy  of  his  own  thoughts  im- 
pressed him  profoundly.  The  problems  of  life 
that  had  long  been  puzzling  him  seemed  sud- 
denly to  be  amazingly  simple.  What  fools 
Mandelbaum  &  Kaplan  were  to  sell  their  wares ! 

I  often  wonder  what  the  Vintners  buy 
One-half  so  precious  as  the  stuff  they  sell ! 

Heigh-ho !  It  was  a  great  world !  And  peo- 
ple were  foolish  to  worry.  Lapidowitz  strolled 
into  the  outer  office  again  and  began  to  hum  a 
tune.  Then,  suddenly,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
the  Great  Moment  of  his  destiny  had  arrived. 
It  was  a  wonderful  moment !  It  came  with  the 
force  of  an  avalanche,  and  the  world  quickly 
grew  blacker  and  blacker.  Lapidowitz  began 
to  realise  that  he  was  suffering  pain,  and  the 
pain  grew  more  and  more  excruciating  with 
amazing  rapidity.  And  slowly,  oh,  so  slowly! 
the  conviction  dawned  upon  him  that  Mr.  Man- 
delbaum was  clutching  him  tightly  by  the  collar 
and  pulling  him  out  of  the  store.  When  he 
reached  the  sidewalk  the  Great  Moment  of  his 
destiny  was  past.  He  snapped  his  fingers  at 


Lapidowitz  Lapses  85 

Mr.  Mandelbaum,  laughed  in  his  face,  and  went 
home. 

It  was  an  aching  Lapidowitz  that  waked  the 
next  morning.  It  was  a  puzzled  Lapidowitz 
that  scratched  his  head  and  racked  his  memory 
to  recall  the  details  of  the  preceding  evening. 
And  it  was  a  worried  Lapidowitz  that  began  to 
lose  confidence  in  his  memory  and  to  wonder 
what  had  really  happened  the  day  before. 
Still,  he  thought,  Moishe  would  know.  He  re- 
membered distinctly  that  Moishe  had  been  pres- 
ent, and  by  clever  questioning  he  could  draw 
from  the  lad  an  accurate  account  of  what  had 
taken  place.  He  went  to  the  house  where 
Moishe  lived  and  sent  a  boy  up-stairs  for  him. 

"He  has  went  to  school,"  the  boy  reported. 

"To  school?"  repeated  Lapidowitz,  puzzled. 
* '  How  can  that  be  ?  He  goes  to  work. ' ' 

"His  mother  says  he  has  went  to  school,  but 
maybe  he's  playing  hookey,"  explained  the  lad. 

Lapidowitz  went  to  the  nearest  school  and 
asked  for  Moishe.  And,  sure  enough,  Moishe 
himself  appeared,  a  broad  grin  upon  his  face. 

"Why  ain't  you  in  the  store?"  asked  Lapido- 
witz. 

"Mr.  Mandelbaum  gives  me  my  wages  to  let 


86  With  the  Best  Intention 

me  go  to  school  for  another  year,"  explained 
Moishe.  "He  says  business  ain't  no  place  for 
me  because  I'm  only  a — what-do-you-call-um1? 
—a  child." 

"He  pays  your  wages  and  lets  you  go 
to  school?"  asked  Lapidowitz  incredulously. 
"When  did  he  do  it?" 

Moishe  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "When 
he  came  in  the  store.  Don't  you  remember? 
You  was  trying  to  kiss  the  bookkeeper,  and  the 
boss  just  looked  at  you,  and  then  he  asked  me 
how  old  I  was.  Then  he  says  it's  too  bad. 
Didn't  you  hear  him?" 

Lapidowitz  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead.  "I  was — er — kissing  the  book- 
keeper?" he  asked,  bewildered. 

Moishe  giggled.  "Don't  you  remember? 
You  said  you'd  do  it  just  for  spite  because  she 
wouldn't  marry  you.  And  you  told  the  boss  to 
mind  his  own  business." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lapidowitz  feebly.  "Ha! 
Ha!  Ha!  Yes,  I  remember.  Funny,  wasn't 
it?" 

"It  was  awfully  funny!"  exclaimed  Moishe, 
laughing.  "You  didn't  know  he  was  so  strong, 
did  you?" 

"So  strong?    Who?"  asked  Lapidowitz. 


Lapidowitz  Lapses  87 

"Mr.  Mandelbaum.  He  just  grabbed  you  by 
the  collar  like  a  baby  and  threw  you  out  of  the 
store." 

* '  Oh,  yes.  Ha !  Ha !  We  were  only  fooling, 
Moishe.  You're  too  young  to  understand.  I 
— er — just  dropped  in  to  see  how  you're  get- 
ting along  and — er — the  bookkeeper — er — she 
didn't  say  anything,  did  she?" 

"Oh,  no.  She  only  asked  me  if  it  was  true 
about  the  tenement-houses  you  own,  and  I  said 
no,  it's  only  a  joke  because  you  want  to  get  mar- 
ried with  her,  and  she  says  you're  all  right." 

A  cold  shiver  crept  up  and  down  Lapido- 
witz's  spine,  and  the  perspiration  fairly  rolled 
from  his  forehead.  "Moishe,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely,  "I  just  come  in  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a 
favour.  Go  to  the  store  this  afternoon  and  tell 
her  I'm  going  to  Chicago  and  won't  be  back 
for  a  couple  of  years.  When  you  are  older  you 
will  understand.  Only  do  it.  Won't  you?" 

Moishe 's  eyes  opened  wide.  "You're  going 
to  Chicago!"  he  asked. 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him  long  and  intently. 
Then  he  winked.  "Between  man  and  man, 
Moishe,  I  ask  you  to  tell  her." 

And  Moishe  laughed  and  promised.  Lapido- 
witz went  to  Milken's  cafe,  and  all  day  long  sat 


88  With  the  Best  Intention 

thinking.  In  the  evening,  chastened  in  spirit 
and  glowing  with  good  resolve,  he  went  to  the 
synagogue. 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog 

LIFE  itself  is  very  inconsequential.  A  man 
who  has  been  living  in  a  cave  for  two 
months  may  step  out  just  in  time  to  be  run  over 
by  an  automobile,  and  no  philosopher  could 
ever  figure  out  satisfactorily  the  proper  relation 
between  the  two  incidents.  What  we  call  a  co- 
incidence is  only  a  correlation  of  facts  that  we 
happen  to  notice.  But,  whether  we  notice  them 
or  not,  facts  seem  to  keep  on  correlating.  After 
which  burst  of  wisdom  let  us  plunge  into  the 
story. 

Izzy  Levine  sat  at  his  desk  in  Marcus  &  Gom- 
precht's  establishment  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  an  essay  on  "Should  Women  Vote?" 
Not  that  Marcus  &  Gomprecht  dealt  in  woman's 
suffrage.  They  were  in  the  wholesale  uphol- 
stery business.  But  the  Yiddish  Arbeiier,  a 
popular  Ghetto  weekly,  had  offered  a  series  of 
prizes  for  the  best  argument  either  for  or 
against  woman  suffrage,  and  Izzy,  ambitious  to 

89 


90  With  the  Best  Intention 

shine  in  the  field  of  literature,  overflowing  with 
Schopenhauer's  ideas  on  the  unfitness  of  women 
for  everything,  and  not  a  bit  interested  in  the 
upholstery  business,  had  been  devoting  a  great 
deal  of  his  time  to  this  essay.  Gomprecht,  the 
junior  partner,  was  rather  a  phlegmatic  person, 
and  when  Mr.  Marcus  called  his  attention  to  the 
amount  of  time  Izzy  devoted  to  everything  save 
the  upholstery  business  would  only  shrug  his 
shoulders. 

''But  can  we  afford  to  pay  wages  by  a 
loafer?"  Mr.  Marcus  would  insist. 

"Ven  you  vas  young  like  him,"  Gomprecht 
would  answer,  "you  didn't  never  kill  yourself 
working." 

This  particular  afternoon  the  spectacle  of 
Izzy  sprawling  over  Marcus  &  Gomprecht 's 
writing-desk,  writing  on  Marcus  &  Gomprecht 's 
stationery,  in  Marcus  &  Gomprecht 's  time  exas- 
perated Mr.  Marcus. 

"Go  down  to  der  stock-room  in  der  base- 
ment," he  finally  said  to  Izzy.  "See  if  dere  iss 
fifty-nine  bales  of  horsehair." 

Izzy  had  just  finished  his  essay.  Whistling 
cheerfully,  he  stepped  upon  the  freight-elevator 
and  descended  to  the  basement.  There  were 
just  fifty-nine  bales.  As  the  elevator  rose  to  the 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  91 

ground  floor,  a  young  man,  gorgeously  arrayed, 
called  to  Izzy  to  stop. 

"Take  me  up,"  he  cried.  "The  passenger 
elevator  ain't  running." 

"Sorry,"  said  Izzy,  "but  it's  against  the 
rules.  You  have  to  walk.  Nobody  is  allowed 
to  ride  on  the  freight-elevator. ' '  He  pulled  the 
cord,  and  the  elevator  began  to  ascend. 

The  young  man  shook  his  fist.  "Come  back 
here ! "  he  cried.  ' '  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? ' ' 

Izzy  smiled  at  him.  "No,"  he  said,  "but  if 
you  walk  up-stairs  and  give  me  your  card  maybe 
I'll  be  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"You're  a  loafer!"  cried  the  young  man,  ex- 
asperated. 

Izzy,  whistling  softly,  stopped  the  elevator 
and  then  began  to  descend.  "What  did  you 
say?"  he  asked. 

The  young  man  had  at  least  the  courage  of 
his  convictions.  "You're  a  loafer!"  he  re- 
peated. What  happened  after  that,  happened 
so  swiftly  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  it  in 
detail.  Then  Izzy  stepped  upon  the  elevator 
and  pulled  the  cord. 

"Never  call  names  when  you  ain't  intro- 
duced," he  said,  smiling  amiably. 

The  young  man  picked  himself  up  from  the 


92  With  the  Best  Intention 

corner  into  which  he  had  shot  and  shook  his 
fist.  ' '  You  '11  suffer  for  this ! "  he  cried. 

Izzy  returned  to  his  desk  and  began  to  ad- 
dress an  envelope  to  the  Should- Women- Vote  T 
Editor  of  the  Yiddish  Arbeiter. 

"Veil,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Marcus,  hustling 
toward  him,  "v'y  didn't  you  come  unt  tell  me 
how  many  bales  iss  1 " 

"Because,"  said  Izzy,  moistening  the  flap  of 
the  envelope,  "you  didn't  ask  me  to.  You  said 
I  should  go  and  see  if  there  are  fifty-nine  bales." 

Mr.  Marcus  glared  at  him.  Somehow  or 
other,  Izzy  had  the  effect  of  setting  every  nerve 
in  Mr.  Marcus 's  body  on  edge. 

"How  many  bales  iss?"  he  asked. 

"Fifty-nine,"  said  Izzy. 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  the  gorgeously  ar- 
rayed young  man,  breathing  heavily  from  his 
stair-climbing,  burst  into  the  room.  One  of  his 
eyes  was  very  red.  He  approached  the  junior 
partner's  desk. 

"Look!"  he  said  to  the  astonished  Grom- 
precht,  and  pointing  to  his  eye,  "look  what  that 
prize-fighter  you  got  did  to  me." 

Gomprecht  glared  at  Izzy.  "Did  you  hit  my 
son?" 

Izzy  surveyed  the  young  man  calmly.     "I 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  93 

didn't  know  lie  was  your  son,  but  lie  said  I  was 
a  loafer,  so  I  had  to  punch  him." 

"I  guess,"  said  Gomprecht  dryly,  "maybe 
he  vasn't  so  wrong.  You  better  pack  up  and 
get  ouid ! ' ' 

1  'Sure,"  said  Izzy  cheerfully;  "anything  to 
oblige.  But  you  should  educate  your  son  not 
to  call  people  names,  or  maybe  his  other  eye 
will  get  into  trouble." 

Then  Izzy  affixed  three  of  Marcus  &  Gom- 
precht 's  postage-stamps  to  his  letter,  donned 
his  hat  and  coat,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  with  a 
cheerful  air,  departed.  The  cheerfulness  of  his 
demeanour,  however,  was  entirely  assumed,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  street,  Izzy  looked 
quite  as  dejected  as  he  felt. 

He  lived  alone  with  his  mother  and  supported 
her,  and  while  he  felt  he  would  have  little  diffi- 
culty in  finding  new  employment,  he  realised 
that,  distasteful  as  the  upholstery  business  had 
been  to  him,  it  had  paid  better  than  anything 
he  was  likely  to  find  for  some  time. 

The  next  thing  that  happened  was  a  dog-fight. 
Izzy  had  stopped  to  post  his  letter  when  two 
dogs  in  lively  combat  rolled  against  his  legs. 
Izzy  stepped  aside  to  watch  the  fray.  Isn't  it 
wonderful  that  nearly  all  human  beings  have 


94  With  the  Best  Intention 

achieved  that  pinnacle  of  civilisation  that  when- 
ever they  see  two  dogs  fighting  they  pause  to 
look  on!  Izzy's  heart  went  out  instinctively  to 
the  smaller  dog.  This  was  a  yellowish-brown 
animal,  evidently  a  cross  breed  of  fox-terrier, 
bulldog,  spaniel,  Spitz,  and  dachshund.  Yet, 
while  his  family  tree  was  unquestionably  bewil- 
dering, there  was  something  delightfully  ap- 
pealing in  his  ears  and  his  soft,  brown  eyes. 
And  the  fight  was  against  him.  Even  as  Izzy 
watched  the  combat  the  bigger  dog,  in  one 
spring,  seemed  to  overwhelm  his  little  antago- 
nist, and  after  one  fierce  whirl,  trotted  off,  leav- 
ing the  little  fellow  dazed  and  vanquished. 
There  was  no  one  else  around,  and  the  dog 
looked  up  into  Izzy's  face  and,  slowly,  his  stump 
of  a  tail  began  to  wag.  Izzy  stooped  and  patted 
him  upon  the  head. 

"You  made  a  good  fight,  doggie,"  he  said, 
"but  I  guess  you  ain't  much  of  a  fighter." 

The  dog  raised  one  paw,  cocked  his  head  on 
one  side,  and  with  each  ear  at  a  different  angle 
gazed  at  Izzy.  But  Izzy  had  troubles  of  his 
own,  and  with  a  final,  comforting  pat  upon  the 
head,  turned  away  and  started  homeward. 

The  next  thing  that  happened  was  that  the 
door  of  Milken's  Cafe  was  open,  and  the  in- 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  95 

vigorating  odour  of  coffee  assailed  Izzy's  nos- 
trils. He  hadn't  thought  of  coffee  before  that 
moment,  but  now  it  seemed  to  him  preposterous 
to  plan  what  he  would  do  in  the  future  without 
first  drinking  a  cup  of  it.  So  he  entered  and 
was  immediately  hailed  with  a  cry  of  joy  from 
a  tall,  lank,  bearded,  and  seedy-looking  indi- 
vidual, who  sat  at  one  of  the  tables,  jotting  down 
figures  in  a  note-book. 

"  Izzy  Levine!  Of  all  men!  I  was  just 
hoping  you  would  come  in." 

" That's  funny,"  said  Izzy,  smiling.  "I've 
never  been  in  here  before.  But,  my  dear 
Lapidowitz,  I  am  no  good  to-day.  I've  just 
lost  my  job." 

"But  only  two  dollars,  Izzy,"  exclaimed  the 
schnorrer  without  wasting  a  word  of  sympathy. 
"You  see,  I  need  ten  to  go  to  Buffalo,  where 
Oordonsky  has  a  job  for  me,  and  if  you  give  me 
two,  that  makes  six  in  all,  and  I  can  easy  get 
the  other  four." 

Izzy  laughed  heartily.  "Here's  a  dollar, 
Lappy.  Not  a  cent  more.  Never  mind  about 
the  Buffalo  story.  I  gave  you  a  dollar  to  go 
to  Chicago  last  month.  Have  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  tell  me  the  latest  gossip." 

Lapidowitz  accepted  the  dollar  with  a  bene- 


96  With  the  Best  Intention 

diction  that  applied  to  Izzy  and  all  his  progeny 
through  six  generations.  Then,  looking  down 
at  the  floor,  ''Where  did  you  get  the  dog!"  he 
asked. 

"What  dog?"  asked  Izzy,  looking  in  his  turn. 
And  there,  behind  him,  joyfully  wagging  his 
tail  at  being  noticed,  stood  the  victim  of  the 
recent  combat. 

"Well,  you're  a  great  doggie,"  said  Izzy. 
*  'Whatever  put  it  into  your  head  to  follow  me  ?  " 

The  dog  rose  upon  his  hind  legs,  laid  his  paws 
upon  Izzy 's  knees,  and  began  to  lick  his  hands. 

"I  guess  he  has  adopted  me,"  said  Izzy. 

"Ugh!"  exclaimed  Lapidowitz.  "I  hate 
dogs. ' ' 

But  Izzy  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  drew 
the  dog  upon  his  lap  and  stroked  his  head  and 
his  soft  ears.  "I  guess,"  said  he,  "if  no  one 
comes  around  and  claims  you  I'll  have  to  give 
you  board  and  lodging.  I  never  had  a  dog  fol- 
low me  before." 

The  dog  wore  a  collar,  but  it  apparently  bore 
no  mark  that  gave  a  clue  to  his  ownership. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Lapidowitz,"  said  Izzy, 
rising.  "That  makes  three  dollars  you  owe 
me,  but  you  needn't  pay  me  until  you  have  the 
money." 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  97 

Whistling  cheerfully,  lie  strode  out  of  the 
cafe.  The  dog  followed  him  for  a  few  paces, 
then  stopped,  hesitated  an  instant,  bounded  to- 
ward Lapidowitz,  uttered  a  shrill  yelp  that 
made  the  schnorrer  leap  from  his  chair  in  ter- 
ror, and  then  turned  and  dashed  after  Izzy. 
Lapidowitz  sat  for  an  hour  pensively  cursing 
dogs. 

The  following  afternoon  it  happened  that 
Lapidowitz  sat  in  Milken's  Cafe  all  alone. 
Milken,  after  pocketing  all  the  money  in  the 
drawer,  had  stepped  out  to  do  some  marketing 
and  had  asked  the  schnorrer  to  keep  an  eye  on 
the  place.  It  was  an  unlikely  hour  for  cus- 
tomers, and  Lapidowitz  was  beginning  to  doze 
in  his  chair  when  there  entered  an  elderly  man 
of  such  imposing  appearance  and  of  such  fierce 
mien  that  Lapidowitz  promptly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Did  you  see  my  dog?"  he  asked,  in  excel- 
lent Yiddish. 

"Your  dog?"  repeated  the  schnorrer. 

"No.  My  cow!"  cried  the  other  fiercely. 
"Didn't  you  hear  me  say  dog?  I  lost  him  some- 
where in  the  neighbourhood,  and  I'll  pay  a 
hundred  dollars  to  any  one  who  finds  him." 

Lapidowitz  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  for 
support.  "A  hundred  dollars?"  he  gasped. 


98  With  the  Best  Intention 

The  man  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  ' '  Say, 
you  must  have  lots  of  time  and  nothing  to  do 
if  you  always  repeat  everything  people  say.  A 
dog,  I  said,  and  a  hundred  dollars.  That's 
what  I  said.  I'm  leaving  word  everywhere  in 
the  neighbourhood." 

Then  Lapidowitz  awoke  and  rose  to  the  oc- 
casion. " Don't  leave  any  more  word,"  he 
said  quickly.  "I  guess  I  can  find  him  for  you. 
A  yellow,  brown  dog,  with  spots  and — and  a 
little  tail— and— " 

"Yes,  four  feet  and  a  nose.    Where  is  he?" 

"I — I  think  a  friend  of  mine  has  him.  But 
he  isn't  home  now.  Give  me  your  address, 
and  I'll  bring  the  dog  to  you  to-morrow." 

The  man  handed  him  a  card  bearing  the  name 
of  Isaac  Margulies  and  an  address  uptown  that 
unfolded  visions  of  fabulous  wealth  to  Lapido- 
witz's  mind. 

"Mr.  Margulies!"  he  fairly  gasped. 

Pleased  with  the  effect  of  his  name,  the  rich 
man's  manner  grew  more  affable.  "You  see," 
he  explained,  "it  was  the  anniversary  of  my 
wife's  death,  and  I  went  to  the  cemetery  on 
Long  Island  in  my  forty-horse-power  automo- 
bile. I  had  the  dog  in  the  what-do-you-callum, 
the  tonneau  in  the  back — he's  my  daughter's 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  99 

dog.  And  on  the  way  back  I  stopped  on  Clinton 
Street,  near  where  I  used  to  live,  to  get  some 
pot-cheese  with  onions  which  you  can't  get  any- 
where else.  The  first  thing  I  noticed  when  I 
got  back  into  the  automobile,  the  dog  was  gone. 
Good  riddance,  I  says.  But  when  I  get  homev 
you  ought  to  heard  my  Eosie  cry  and  make  a 
fuss !  Well,  I  got  to  go.  You  fetch  the  dog  up 
and  get  a  hundred — well,  let's  say  a  hundred 
and  fifty.  Good-bye!" 

And  he  was  gone,  leaving  Lapidowitz  in  & 
state  of  momentary  though  joyful  collapse. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars!  And  so  easy! 
It  was  like  raining  money  from  the  sky.  And 
in  addition,  to  do  a  favour  for  Isaac  Margulies, 
who  not  only  owned  a  dozen  tenement-houses, 
but  lived  uptown  like  a  stylisher !  Without  giv- 
ing a  moment's  thought  to  Milken  or  the  de- 
serted cafe,  Lapidowitz  hastened  to  Izzy's 
home. 

His  knock  upon  the  door  was  answered  by 
a  series  of  vicious  yelps. 

"Come  in!"  cried  a  woman's  voice. 

Lapidowitz  carefully  opened  the  door  about 
two  inches.  "Is  Izzy  in?"  he  asked. 

"No.  He's  working  temporary  by  Lubar- 
sky's  real-estate  office.  I'm  his  mother." 


100          With  the  Best  Intention 

Lapidowitz  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  "  Would 
you  like  to  sell  that  dog?"  he  asked. 

"Sell  Izzy's  dog?  Are  you  crazy?  Who  are 
you?  Come  inside." 

"I'll  give  five  dollars,"  said  Lapidowitz. 

"Not  for  a  million  dollars,"  said  Izzy's 
mother  emphatically.  "Wait.  I'll  come  to  the 
door." 

But  Lapidowitz  waited  not.  The  prospect  of 
the  dog  taking  advantage  of  an  open  door  gave 
wings  to  his  heels.  He  took  the  steps  four  at 
a  time.  In  breathless  haste  he  betook  himself 
to  Lubarsky  's  office  and  seeing  Izzy  through  the 
window,  came  to  a  halt.  It  would  not  do  to  ap- 
proach him  impetuously,  thought  Lapidowitz. 
It  would  be  sure  to  arouse  suspicion  in  his  mind. 
So  Lapidowitz  walked  slowly  around  the  block 
to  regain  his  breath,  and  then,  in  the  most 
casual  manner,  sauntered  in  Lubarsky 's  office. 

"Is  Mister  Lubarsky  in?"  he  asked.  "Well, 
hello,  Izzy!  Since  when  are  you  here?" 

"Hello,  Lappy!  Lubarsky  is  out  of  town. 
I  'm  only  minding  the  office  for  him  until  he  gets 
back.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  the  scandal  you 
know. ' ' 

"How  is  the  dog?"  asked  Lapidowitz,  light- 
ing a  cigarette  that  Izzy  proffered  him. 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  101 

"That  dog,"  said  Izzy,  "is  a  wonder.  He's 
just  as  smart  as — as  you  are,  Lappy.  Honest 
he  is !  All  day  long  he  sits  around  and  never 
does  any  work.  In  the  afternoon  he  goes  out 
for  a  little  walk,  but  in  an  hour  he  always  comes 
back  and  scratches  on  the  door.  And  when  I 
come  home,  he  jumps  all  over  me.  He  and  I 
are  just  crazy  about  each  other." 

"Dogs  are  good  company,"  vouchsafed  Lapi- 
dowitz. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  so  much  about  the  com- 
pany part,"  said  Izzy.  "Last  night  I  just  fin- 
ished a  fine  poem  for  the  Yiddish  Arbeiter  and 
the  minute  my  back  turned  Gompy  chewed  up 
the  poem." 

"Gompy?" 

"Yes,  I've  called  him  Gompy.  After  Gom- 
precht,  a  man  I  used  to  work  for." 

"Well,  Izzy,"  said  Lapidowitz  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  "I  had  an  idea  yesterday.  You 
know  I'm  a  very  lonesome  man.  I  live  all  by 
myself,  and  sometimes  I  get  terribly  lonely. 
So  I  thought  maybe  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
if  I  got  a  dog,  too." 

' '  Fine ! ' '  exclaimed  Izzy.  ' '  Every  man  ought 
to  have  a  dog." 


102          With  the  Best  Intention 

"So  if  you  want  to  get  rid  of  that  dog  you 
got  I  guess  maybe  I  might  take  him. ' ' 

"Get  rid  of  Gompy?  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!" 
laughed  Izzy.  * '  You  're  crazy. ' ' 

"Oh,  of  course,"  hastily  added  Lapidowitz, 
"I  wouldn't  expect  you  to  do  it  for  nothing. 
Suppose  I  buy  him  from  you  for — well,  say  five 
dollars. ' ' 

Izzy  grinned.  "  Have  you  got  five  dollars 
to  spend  for  a  dog?" 

"Sure  I  have,"  said  Lapidowitz  eagerly. 
"Here  is  it!" 

Izzy  held  out  his  hand  and  took  the  bill  that 
Lapidowitz  extended  to  him.  "Sure  enough. 
It's  five  dollars,"  he  murmured.  Then  he  drew 
two  dollars  from  his  own  pocket,  handed  them 
to  Lapidowitz,  and  pocketed  the  latter 's  money. 
"You  owe  me  three  dollars,  you  know,"  he  ex- 
plained. "There's  your  change.  A  man  who 
has  money  to  buy  a  dog  has  money  to  pay  his 
debts.  I'll  leave  it  to  the  rabbi  if  you  like." 

Lapidowitz  glared  at  him.  His  lips  moved. 
He  was  about  to  burst  into  a  torrent  of  impreca- 
tion, when  by  great  effort  he  managed  to  con- 
trol himself  and  mustered  a  sickly  grin  to  his 
countenance. 

"You're  a  great  joker,  Izzy,"  he  said.    "But 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  103 

business  is  business.  I  really  want  a  dog. 
Give  me  your  dog,  and  I'll  give  you  five  dollars 
more." 

Izzy  opened  Ms  eyes  in  surprise.  "Why, 
Lapidowitz,  I  wouldn't  sell  that  dog  for  a  thou- 
sand dollars.  He  and  I  are  friends.  Don't 
you  understand?  Go  and  buy  some  other  dog. 
You  can  get  lots  of  them." 

Then  Lapidowitz  opened  the  floodgates  of  his 
wrath.  "Swindler  and  robber!"  he  cried. 
''He  ain't  your  dog!  Give  me  back  my  money. 
I'm  going  to  the  police  to  tell  them  you  stole 
the  dog.  I'll  find  the  man  who  owns  the  dog, 
and  he'll  send  you  to  jail.  Loafer  that  you  are ! 
Give  me  back  my  money." 

Izzy  rose  to  his  feet  and  yawned.  "Lapido- 
witz," he  said  genially,  "you  no  longer  interest 
me  when  you  speak  like  that. ' '  Then  he  seized 
the  schnorrer  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  gently 
but  firmly  pushed  him  out  of  the  office.  In  the 
scuffle,  Lapidowitz  slightly  scratched  his  hand 
against  the  door,  and  finding  it  bleeding,  has- 
tened to  the  nearest  drug-store  to  purchase  a 
piece  of  sticking-plaster.  Lapidowitz  was 
afraid  of  germs. 

While  he  was  waiting  for  his  purchase,  he 
asked  the  druggist,  "Gives  it  a  medicine  vot  I 


104          With  the  Best  Intention 

can  give  a  dog  so  he  don't  know  nothing  unt 
goes  asleep?" 

"Chloroform,"  suggested  the  druggist.  "A 
good  whiff  of  chloroform  will  make  him  uncon- 
scious. ' ' 

" Dot's  fine,"  exclaimed  Lapidowitz.  "How 
much  costs  it?" 

"Oh,  ten  cents'  worth  will  be  all  you  need 
for  a  dog." 

"Unt  how  do  I  do  it?    Der  dog  eats  it?" 

* '  Oh,  no !  You  pour  some  on  a  sponge,  hold 
the  dog  tight,  and  press  the  sponge  against  his 
nose." 

"Hold  der  dog  tight?"  asked  Lapidowitz. 
"Dolhaf  to  doit?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  druggist.  "They  hate 
the  smell  of  chloroform.  Shall  I  put  up  some  in 
a  bottle  for  you  ? ' ' 

"Never  mind,"  said  Lapidowitz  gloomily. 
"If  I  could  hold  der  dog  I  vouldn't  need  der 
chloroform." 

That  night,  when  Izzy  reached  home,  the  dog, 
as  usual,  sprang  to  meet  him,  barking  joyfully, 
jumping  on  his  hind  legs  in  a  frantic  endeavour 
to  caress  his  new  master.  When  his  mother 
told  him  of  the  mysterious  visitor  who  had  of- 
fered to  buy  the  dog,  Izzy  became  puzzled. 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  105 

He  took  the  dog  on  his  lap  and  began  to  ex- 
amine him  closely.  Izzy  knew  Lapidowitz  and 
knew  how  easy  it  was  for  Lapidowitz  to  part 
with  fiye  dollars  for  a  dog.  For  the  first  time, 
the  dog's  collar  attracted  Izzy's  close  attention 
and  he  unbuckled  it.  On  the  inside,  engraved 
upon  a  small  plate,  he  read,  "  BEANS.  Property 
of  Miss  Eosie  Margulies."  And  written  in  ink 
on  the  leather  stood  the  address. 

Izzy's  heart  sank.  "So  you  belong  to  some- 
body else,"  he  said  to  the  dog.  "And  I  have 
to  give  you  up." 

The  dog  looked  into  his  eyes  and,  with  that 
strange  sympathy  that  dumb  animals  sometimes 
display,  began  to  whimper  as  if  he  knew  that 
something  unwelcome  had  happened. 

"Why,  your  name  isn't  even  Gompy,"  said 
Izzy  sadly.  "It's  Beans.  Well,  Gompy — or 
Beans — I  suppose  I'll  have  to  take  you  back  to 
Miss — what's  her  name?"  He  looked  at  the 
plate  again.  "Miss  Eosie  Margulies.  I  don't 
see  what  she  wants  with  a  dog.  Maybe  she'll 
be  willing  to  sell  you.  Golly,  that 's  a  good  idea ! 
Hey,  Gompy  ?  Or  Beans  I ' ' 

The  dog  began  to  prance  about  with  delight 
at  the  merry  note  in  Izzy's  voice.  And  Izzy  de- 
termined to  call  upon  Miss  Eosie  Margulies 


106          With  the  Best  Intention 

early  the  next  morning  and  see  if  she  would  be 
willing  to  sell  Gompy — or  Beans — for  any  sum 
that  lay  within  his  power  to  pay. 

Izzy's  was  not  a  nature  to  be  long  depressed. 
He  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  ignoring  ob- 
stacles and,  having  been  fortunate  in  most  of 
the  experiences  of  his  life,  had  fallen  into  the 
way  of  looking  upon  the  world  as  an  institu- 
tion devised  to  contribute  to  his  happiness.  If 
I  were  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  his  nature,  it 
would  be  most  unsatisfactory.  Considering 
how  difficult  it  is  to  know  oneself,  how  much 
more  difficult  must  it  be  to  understand  another! 
And,  still  more,  to  describe  that  other's  char- 
acter satisfactorily  to  a  third?  Izzy  was  hon- 
est, generous,  happy-go-lucky,  with  no  particu- 
lar ambition  in  life,  totally  without  prejudice, 
thoroughly  unconventional,  and  absolutely  lack- 
ing in  reverence  for  all  creatures  and  things 
mundane. 

" Mother, "  he  said,  "it  says  here  on  Gompy's 
collar  that  his  name  is  Beans  and  he  belongs  to 
a  lady  uptown.  I'm  going  up  in  the  morning 
and  see  if  I  can  buy  him. ' ' 

" That's  foolish,"  said  his  mother,  upon 
whom  the  dog  had  not  made  quite  so  deep  an 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  107 

impression.  ''You'd  better  be  getting  a  new 
job." 

"Ok,  tkere's  no  kurry.  I  kave  plenty  of 
money  saved  up  in  tke  bank.  I  couldn't  work, 
anyway,  if  I  didn't  kave  Gompy — or  Beans.  I 
don't  tkink  tke  lady  can  be  very  smart,  or  ske 
wouldn't  kave  called  Gompy  Beans." 

"Supposing  ske  won't  sell  kim?"  suggested 
kis  motker. 

Izzy's  eyes  twinkled.  "Well,"  said  ke,  "I 
suppose,  tken,  I'll  kave  to  marry  ker  so  as  to 
keep  tke  dog  in  tke  family." 

"Supposing  ske's  an  old  lady  with  grey  hair 
and  wrinkles?"  said  kis  motker,  laugking. 

"I'll  tell  ker  ske  can't  kave  tke  dog  back  un- 
less ske  adopts  me.  Say,  motker,  do  you  know 
wkat  I  tkink?  I'll  bet  tkat  rascal  Lapidowitz 
found  out  tke  dog  belongs  to  some  one  and 
wanted  to  buy  kim  so  tkat  ke  could  get  a  re- 
ward. Isn't  ke  foxy!" 

"Maybe  tke  lady  will  give  you  a  reward  for 
bringing  kim  back,"  suggested  Mrs.  Levine. 

' '  A  reward  for  Gomp  ? ' '  said  Izzy  indignantly. 
"Wky,  I'd  just  as  lief  sell  a  little  baby  if  we 
kad  one  around  kere.  Muck  ratker,  I  tkink. 
Hey,  Gompy  f  Or  Beans  f ' ' 


108          With  the  Best  Intention 

The  dog  jumped  on  his  lap  and  began  to 
lick  his  face  with  great  enthusiasm.  The  next 
morning  Izzy  went  uptown  to  the  address  that 
was  written  inside  the  dog's  collar.  The  place 
was  a  brown-stone  house,  very  modest  and  even 
somewhat  faded-looking,  but,  according  to  the 
standards  of  Delancey  Street,  a  stylish  and  pa- 
latial edifice.  In  front  of  it  stood  a  small  auto- 
mobile. 

Izzy  rang  the  bell.  The  door  was  opened  by 
a  young  woman — hardly  more  than  a  girl — and 
at  the  sight  of  her  Izzy  experienced  a  most  won- 
derful and  most  amazing  sensation.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  could  hardly  define  it.  He  kept  star- 
ing at  her  and  she  at  him.  Then,  swiftly,  the 
curious  feeling  came  over  him  that  he  had  been 
dreaming  all  his  life  and  had  only  now,  at  this 
moment,  awakened.  His  lips  parted  as  if  he 
were  about  to  speak  and  then,  realising  that  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  embarrassed,  he 
laughed  merrily.  The  girl  smiled — she  could 
not  have  helped  it  to  save  her  life. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Izzy  suddenly.  "I  for- 
got to  take  off  my  hat." 

At  this  the  girl  laughed  outright.  Izzy, 
standing  bareheaded  with  the  sunshine  spark- 
ling (oh,  we  baldheaded  men!)  upon  his  curling 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  109 

black  hair,  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her 
face. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "you're  the  most 
beautiful  girl  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on?" 

The  girl  coloured,  regained  her  composure, 
and  drew  herself  up  with  as  much  dignity  as 
she  could  muster  to  her  aid.  ' '  Did  you  ring  the 
door-bell?"  she  asked. 

"Sure  I  did,"  said  Izzy,  his  eyes  dancing, 
"and  in  a  minute  I'll  tell  you  what  I  came  for. 
But  first  I  want  to  apologise  for  saying  you're  so 
pretty.  I  shouldn't  have  said  it,  should  I?" 

"Why,  no,"  with  great  indignation.  "I 
haven't  any  idea  who  you  are." 

"Oh,  I'm  Isadore  Levine.  But  that  doesn't 
make  any  difference.  I — I — say,  do  you  know, 
when  the  light  falls  on  your  hair  it  shines  just 
like  gold?  Oh,  please  don't  go  in.  I  came  to 
see  you  about  some  business — I — just  wait  a 
minute. ' ' 

The  young  lady  frowned.  He  was  an  ex- 
tremely good-looking  young  man,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  admired  her  very  much,  but  his 
breezy  directness  startled  her. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  him  in  an 
icy  tone. 

Izzy  turned  from  her  and  resolutely  fanned 


110          With  the  Best  Intention 

himself  with  his  hat.  Then :  * '  I  got  your  dog. 
Are  you  Eosie  Margulies?  Yes,  I've  got  him. 
And  I  came  all  the  way  uptown  to  see  if  I 
couldn't  buy  him  from  you.  We're  great 
friends,  Gompy  and  I — I  mean  Beans.  But 
my !  All  you  have  to  say  is  you  want  him  back 
and  I  'd  walk  all  the  way  uptown  on  my  head  to 
bring  him  to  you." 

"You've  found  Beans?"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
clapping  her  hands  with  delight.  "Where  is 
he?  How  is  he?  Why  didn't  you  bring  him 
with  you?" 

"You  don't  think  I'm  too  fresh,  do  you?" 
asked  Izzy  humbly. 

"For  finding  Beans?"  she  asked,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"No.    For  saying  you  were  a  peach." 

What  Eosie  really  intended  to  say  will  never 
be  known.  But  she  happened  to  look  into  the 
young  man's  eyes  and  saw  there  a  revelation  of 
such  adoring  admiration — and  they  were  fine 
eyes,  too — that,  in  a  twinkling,  all  resentment 
died  within  her.  Yet  she  said : 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are  rather  fresh.  But 
where  is  Beans?  When  will  I  get  him?" 

"He  is  down  in  Delancey  Street,  in  the  tene- 
ment-house where  I  live  with  my  mother." 


Love  Me  Love  My  Dog  111 

There  was  a  note,  half  of  defiance,  half  of  re- 
gret, in  Izzy's  voice.  But  Rosie  looked  at  him 
with  renewed  interest. 

"Do  you  live  in  Delancey  Street?"  she  asked 
eagerly.  "We  used  to  live  in  Delancey  Street, 
too.  It's  much  nicer  than  Hester  Street,  where 
we  lived  before  that." 

All  this  time  Eosie  had  been  standing  in  the 
doorway,  holding  the  door  with  both  hands. 
Now,  she  suddenly  turned,  the  door  opened  wide, 
and  a  young  man  appeared  at  her  side.  He 
was  very  gorgeously  dressed  and  one  of  his 
eyes  was  black  and  blue. 

"Hello!"  said  Izzy  cheerfully.  "How's  Mr. 
Gomprecht  I ' ' 

The  young  man  glared  at  Izzy  and  was  about 
to  speak  when,  thinking  better  of  it,  he  turned 
to  Eosie.  "Some  one's  calling  you  on  the  tele- 
phone. ' ' 

"Please  see  who  it  is,  Nathan.  Find  out 
what  they  want.  This  gentleman  has  found 
Beans." 

"Gentleman?"  uttered  Nathan,  as  he  went  in- 
side. 

Izzy  approached  Eosie  eagerly — came  very 
close  to  her — and  whispered  hurriedly, '  *  Say,  if 


112          With  the  Best  Intention 

lie 's  a  friend  of  yours  I  'm  awfully  sorry  that  I 
did  it." 

"Did  what?"  asked  Bosie,  in  surprise. 

"I'm  sorry  I  punched  him  in  the  eye,"  said 
Izzy. 

Eosie's  eyes  opened  wide.  And  they  began 
to  sparkle.  She  leaned  forward  and  whispered, 
"He  told  me  he  nearly  killed  the  man  who  hit 
him." 

They  were  both  laughing  when  Nathan  came 
forward  again.  "It's  a  man  named  Lapido- 
witz,"  he  said.  "He  lives  at  the  corner  of 
Hester  and  Clinton  streets.  He  says  he's  got 
your  dog  and  wants  you  to  send  down  for  'it 
with  the  reward." 


VII 

Love's  Young  Dream 

i  *T%  ^TAN'S  inhumanity  to  man  makes  count- 

IV  JL  less  thousands  mourn!"  The  teacher 
in  school  who  taught  us  the  rudiments  of  com- 
position used  to  say,  "Always  begin  a  chapter 
with  a  broad,  striking  statement  containing 
some  great,  general  truth!"  Having  done  the 
best  we  could,  let  us  proceed. 

Izzy  stared  at  Nathan,  bewildered,  and  Kosie 
stared  at  Izzy. 

"Well,"  said  Nathan,  "what's  the  matter?" 

Izzy  was  speechless. 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  said  Kosie. 
"This  gentleman  just  told  me  he  had  Beans; 
didn  't  you,  Mr.  Levine  ? ' ' 

Nathan  tittered.  "I  guess,  Kosie,"  he  said, 
with  a  grin,  "maybe  I'd  better  run  down-town 
and  bring  the  dog  back  for  you.  I'll  pay  the  re- 
ward, and  your  father  can  settle  with  me  later." 

Then  Izzy,  whose  mind  had  been  occupied  with 
watching  a  fairy  palace  that  he  had  built  with 

113 


114          With  the  Best  Intention 

great  rapidity  crumble  into  vanishing  frag- 
ments with  equal  swiftness,  awoke.  "You 
know  I  told  the  truth,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

Eosie  was  puzzled.  "I'm  sure  of  it,"  said 
she.  ' '  But  who  is  this  Lapidowitz  f ' ' 

"He's  a  loafer,  a  schnorrer,  a  liar,  and  I 
guess,  a  thief." 

"But  he's  got  the  dog,"  remarked  Nathan, 
grinning.  "Good-bye,  Eosie.  I'll  be  right 
back  with  Beans."  He  started  down  the  steps. 

"No,  you  don't,"  exclaimed  Izzy,  starting 
after  him.  "I'm  the  only  person  in  the  world 
who  will  bring  that  dog  back. ' '  He  paused  for 
a  moment  and  turned  to  Eosie.  "I'll  call  you 
up  on  the  telephone  about  noon,  and  I'll  tell 
you  just  when  I'll  have  the  dog  here.  Good- 
bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Eosie  slowly.  For  just  a 
second  Izzy  stood  there  gazing  at  Eosie,  and 
in  that  second  their  eyes  met  and — I  am  really 
not  sure  what  happened,  but  some  swift  and 
stirring  current  of  communication  must  have 
been  established  and  must  have  been  exceed- 
ingly busy.  Else  why  did  Eosie  blush?  And 
why  did  Izzy's  heart  beat  so  tumultuously  ? 
Old  as  the  hills  and  new  as  the  budding  rose, 
uncalled,  unsought,  and  unexpected,  without 


Love's  Young  Dream  115 

rhyme  and  without  reason,  comes  that  won- 
drous moment  of  destiny  when,  as  in  the  Ori- 
ental parable,  a  thousand  years  are  crowded 
within  the  space  of  a  second.  Yes,  it  was  only 
a  second  that  Izzy  stood  there,  motionless,  upon 
the  steps.  Then  he  turned  just  in  time  to  see 
Nathan  crank  the  automobile  that  had  been 
standing  in  front  of  the  house,  step  quickly  to 
the  wheel,  and  start  slowly  down  the  street. 

"I'll  bring  the  dog,  Rosie,"  cried  Nathan. 

Izzy,  red  with  chagrin,  began  to  run.  With 
fiendish  malice  Nathan  steered  the  car  close  to 
the  curb  and  ran  it  just  fast  enough  to  keep 
pace  with  Izzy. 

"Running's  good  exercise  for  the  nerves,"  he 
said.  The  street,  however,  was  wet — it  had 
been  raining  during  the  night — and  the  automo- 
bile suddenly  swerved  and  skidded  against  the 
curb.  It  was  Izzy's  turn  to  grin. 

' '  Get  a  chauffeur ! "  he  cried. 

Nathan,  recovering  control  of  the  car,  turned 
into  the  next  street  and,  feeling  the  rough 
stones  firmer  under  the  car  than  the  asphalt,  in- 
creased his  speed  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 
Izzy,  with  a  sinking  heart,  ran  all  the  way  to  the 
nearest  elevated  station  and,  of  course,  just 
missed  a  train. 


116          With  the  Best  Intention 

Luck  was  with  Nathan.  His  knock  upon 
Lapidowitz  's  door  was  answered  by  a  vociferous 
"Come  in!"  mingled  with  the  loud  yelping  of  a 
dog  in  a  disagreeable  frame  of  mind.  He 
opened  the  door,  gazed  in  amazement  at  the 
spectacle  before  him,  and  the  next  moment  burst 
into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Upon  a  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  squatted  like  a  Turk  and 
smoking  a  cigarette,  sat  Lapidowitz,  while 
Beans,  standing  on  his  hind  legs  with  his  fore- 
paws  against  the  edge  of  the  table,  was  en- 
deavouring vainly  to  reach  him.  Upon  behold- 
ing Nathan  the  dog  dropped  on  all  fours  and 
approached  him,  gave  a  few  inquisitorial  sniffs, 
and,  recognising  an  acquaintance  with  whom  he 
had  no  reason  to  quarrel,  returned  to  the  table 
and  began  to  growl  at  Lapidowitz. 

"Veil,"  said  Lapidowitz,  glaring  at  Nathan, 
"vot  iss  der  joke?" 

"Oh,  dear,"  gasped  Nathan,  between  bursts 
of  laughter.  "You  look  so  comical  sitting  there 
with  the  dog  trying  to  chew  you  up ! " 

"Maybe  you  like  better  I  get  down  und  let 
him  bite  me?  Vot?" 

"  It 's  all  right,  anyway, ' '  said  Nathan.  "  Pm 
here  to  take  the  dog  back.  You  can  get  down. 
I  won't  let  him  bite  you.  He  knows  me." 


"Here   iss   der  key  Tif  my   room.     Vait   till   der   dog  comes   out. 
Take  him  to  my  room,  und  1  gif  you  a  quarter" 


Love's  Young  Dream  117 

"Maybe  yes  und  maybe  no,"  said  Lapidowitz. 
"But  if  it's  der  same  to  you,  I  stay  here  und  ve 
talk  business." 

"How  did  you  get  the  dog?" 

A  broad  grin  came  up  Lapidowitz 's  face.  "I 
got  a  young  friend  vot  t'inks  he  iss  smart.  Und 
he  had  der  dog.  Den,  vun  day,  Mr.  Margulies 
— say,  did  Mr.  Margulies  tell  you  about  me  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  Nathan. 

"Veil,  my  friend,  Mr.  Margulies,  he  comes  to 
me  und  says,  'Lapidowitz,'  he  says,  'if  you  get 
my  daughter's  dog  I  gif  you  a  hundred  und  fifty 
dollars ! '  Sol  goes  to  my  friend  und  asks  him 
to  gif  me  der  dog.  'Nefer,'  he  says.  'Sell  him 
to  me!'  'Nefer!'  I  ask  his  mother.  'Nefer,' 
she  says.  I  ask  der  dog!  My!  He  tried  to 
bite  my  leg  off.  So  vot  could  I  do  ?  My  friend 
iss  a  desperate  man.  But  dear  Mr.  Margulies 
vants  his  dog,  und  I  need  der  hundred  und  fifty. 
Say,  I  tell  you  vot!  I'm  a  smart  man!  Der 
dog  likes  efrybody  except  me,  so  vot  do  I  do? 
I  get  little  Sammy  Lef kovitz,  und  I  say  to  him : 
'  Sammy,  I  got  a  dog  vot  run  away  from  me.  He 
iss  in  dot  house,  but  I  ain't  got  time  to  vait  for 
him.  Here  iss  der  key  uf  my  room.  Vait  till 
der  dog  comes  out.  Take  him  to  my  room,  und 
I  gif  you  a  quarter.  In  a  liddle  time  Sammy 


118          With  the  Best  Intention 

brings  der  key  to  me  in  Milken's  cafe  und  says 
der  dog  iss  in  my  room.  Ain  't  dot  smart  I  Den 
I  telephone  der  lady,  und  here  you  are  mit  der 
hundred  und  fifty." 

"A  hundred  dollars  was  all  Mr.  Margulies 
said  he  would  give  for  a  reward, ' '  said  Nathan. 

"Yes  to  efrybody  else,"  said  Lapidowitz 
eagerly,  "but  to  me  he  says,  'Bring  der  dog, 
Lapidowitz,  my  friend,  und  I  gif  you  one  hun- 
dred und  fifty  dollars ! '  My  vord  uf  honour ! ' ' 

Nathan  took  a  check-book  from  his  pocket, 
' '  A  hundred  dollars, ' '  he  said.  But  Lapidowitz 
would  not  have  it.  In  his  rosy  optimism  he  had 
already  planned  to  spend  every  cent  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars,  and  any  reduction  of  that 
sum  came  as  a  distinct  loss  to  him. 

"Well,"  said  Nathan  finally,  "I'll  give  you  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five.  If  you  don't  like  it 
I'll  go  out  and  whistle,  and  the  dog  will  follow 
me  anyway." 

Reluctantly  Lapidowitz  consented.  Nathan 
wrote  out  the  check,  seized  the  dog  unceremon- 
iously by  the  collar,  carried  him  down  to  the  au- 
tomobile, and  tossed  him  into  the  tonneau. 

"There,"  said  he,  "I  guess  that  will  hold  that 
fresh  loafer  for  a  while. ' ' 

He  started  up-town.    As  the  car  swung  into 


Love's  Young  Dream  119 

Eldridge  Street  Nathan  experienced  the  joy  of 
seeing  Izzy  running  at  full  speed  down  Grand 
Street.  He  chuckled.  It  is  rarely  given  to  mor- 
tal beings  to  enjoy  a  keener  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion than  Nathan  Gomprecht  experienced  at 
that  moment.  He  slackened  the  speed  of  the 
car  and,  holding  to  the  wheel  with  one  hand, 
drew  from  his  pocket  and  lighted  a  cigarette 
with  the  other.  Then,  settling  himself  against 
the  cushion  in  luxurious  ease,  he  opened  the 
throttle  wide  and  skimmed  blithely  up  the  Bow- 
ery. But,  alas  for  the  satisfaction  of  all  mor- 
tal beings !  It  was  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 
eternities  ago,  how  long  the  satisfaction  of  each 
mortal  shall  last,  and  from  this  decree  there  is 
no  appeal.  Beans,  standing  upon  the  rear  seat 
with  his  forepaws  high  upon  the  cushion,  began 
to  bark.  What  he  began  to  bark  at  will  never 
be  known.  Nathan,  worried  lest  the  dog  should 
take  it  into  his  head  to  jump  out  of  the  car, 
turned  his  head  and  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
seize  Beans  by  the  collar.  It  was  a  long  stretch. 
And  ere  his  hand  could  touch  the  dog,  whether 
it  was  that  the  distortion  of  his  body  had  turned 
the  steering-wheel  or  whether  the  tires  had 
struck  another  layer  of  the  yielding  mud  that 
covered  the  street  in  patches,  the  car  suddenly 


120          With  the  Best  Intention 

skidded,  flew  sideways  a  few  feet,  and,  with  a 
rattle  and  a  bang  that  made  Nathan's  heart  sink, 
crashed  into  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  elevated 
railroad.  Nathan  was  pitched  out  sideways 
and  landed  in  a  puddle,  unhurt.  Beans  flew 
over  the  back  of  the  tonneau  as  if  he  had  been 
shot  from  a  catapult,  and,  landing  on  his  feet, 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  Nathan  and  wag- 
ging his  tail  in  great  excitement.  The  next  mo- 
ment, with  a  few  quick,  shrill  yelps,  he  flew  off 
as  fast  as  his  little  legs  could  carry  him,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight. 

Nathan  arose  and  surveyed  the  wreck.  A 
crowd  had  already  collected,  and  a  policeman, 
pushing  his  way  forward,  wanted  to  know  Na- 
than's name  and  address.  Nathan  attempted 
to  start  the  car,  but  failed.  Some  part  within 
its  vitals  had  given  way. 

"Guess  you'll  have  to  tow  'er  home,"  sug- 
gested the  policeman. 

Nathan  went  to  the  nearest  telephone  and 
called  up  his  bank.  "I  just  gave  a  check  to  a 
man  named  Lapidowitz  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  stop 
payment  on  it."  Then  he  felt  better  and,  hav- 
ing arranged  to  have  his  automobile  towed  to  a 
garage,  he  took  an  elevated  train  up-town. 


Love's  Young  Dream  121 

Meanwhile  Izzy  sat  home  alone  and  disconso- 
late. By  the  time  he  had  reached  Lapidowitz's 
dwelling  the  dog  was  gone.  True,  Izzy  had 
seized  Lapidowitz  by  the  beard  and  had  buf- 
feted him  soundly  upon  the  ear  and  had  said, 

1  'You  scoundrel,  if  you  were  not  such  an  old 
man  I  'd  break  every  bone  in  your  lazy  body ! ' ' 

But  all  this  failed  to  obviate  the  distressing 
fact  that  Gompy — or  Beans — was  gone.  And 
Izzy  went  home  to  brood  over  his  hard  luck. 
His  mother  tried  to  console  him,  and  Izzy  told 
her  the  whole  story. 

"If  you  could  only  see  her,"  he  said.  "So 
sweet!  So  beautiful!  And  if  I  could  have 
brought  her  the  dog  I'm  sure  I  would  have  had 
a  chance.  But  that  fellow  will  tell  her  some 
kind  of  a  lie,  and  I'll  never  be  able  to  make  her 
believe  me." 

"Don't  worry,  Izzy,"  said  his  mother.  "Re- 
member what  the  rabbi  says — there 's  always  as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was  caught. ' ' 

Izzy,  despite  his  woe,  could  not  refrain  from 
smiling.  "She  ain't  a  fish,  mother,"  he  said. 
'  *  She 's  a  mermaid. ' ' 

And  just  then,  while  both  were  laughing,  there 
came  a  peremptory  scratching  upon  the  door, 
and  the  next  moment  Beans  was  jumping  all 


122          With  the  Best  Intention 

over  Izzy,  barking  vociferously  and  his  tail  wag- 
ging violently. 

"Good  old  Gompy-Beans!"  exclaimed  Izzy 
joyfully.  "How  did  you  ever  get  away!  And 
you  came  right  straight  back  to  me !  My,  you're 
the  finest  little  doggie  in  the  whole  world ! '  ' 

For  ten  minutes  Izzy  and  the  dog  occupied 
themselves  with  caressing  each  other.  Then 
Izzy  began  to  dress  himself  with  more  care  than 
he  had  ever  given  to  that  function  before. 

"Mother,"  he  said  laughingly,  "I'm  going 
out,  and  if  a  young  lady  comes  to  see  you,  re- 
member I'm  the  only  son  you've  got,  and  tell 
her  what  a  great  man  I  am.  See  ?  And,  what- 
ever happens,  don't  let  the  dog  out  of  the 
house. ' ' 

A  few  minutes  later  Eosie  Margulies  received 
another  telephone  message  announcing  that  her 
dog  had  been  found. 

"I'm  coming  right  up-town  on  the  elevated 
road,"  added  Izzy.  Ah!  that  ride  up-town  was 
a  wonderful  journey!  Never  before  had  the 
sky  been  so  blue  and  all  nature  so  attuned  to 
cheerfulness!  Never  before  had  Izzy  seen 
so  many  happy  faces  on  an  elevated  train! 
Never  before  did  a  train  run  so  smoothly — and 
so  slowly.  Even  the  houses  along  the  route 


Love's  Young  Dream  123 

seemed  so  bright  that  Izzy  felt  sure  nothing  but 
happiness  could  lurk  within  their  walls.  Youth 
and  love!  Wonder  of  wonders  that  these,  the 
two  greatest  gifts  of  life,  should  belong  to  each 
other  and  partake  each  of  the  other's  beauties! 
And,  laughing  together,  how  joyfully  they  view 
the  world!  All  is  sunshine  and  gladness — the 
shadows  of  existence  have  vanished  away. 

Within  a  block  of  her  house  Izzy  met  her, 
walking.  For  a  moment  a  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment swept  over  him,  for  he  felt  that,  but  by  the 
merest  chance,  he  would  have  missed  her.  But, 

"I  always  go  out  for  a  walk  about  this  time," 
she  said  hastily,  ''and  papa's  home." 

"If  I  had  missed  the  train  I  took,"  said  Izzy 
reproachfully,  "I  wouldn't  have  met  you." 

"Young  man,"  said  Rosie,  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  been  stern  had  not  two  dimples  be- 
lied it,  "I've  been  walking  up  and  down  this 
street  for  ages,  waiting  for  you.  I — I  want 
to  know  about  Beans.  Where  is  he  I  How  did 
you  get  him  away  from  that  horrid  man?" 

Izzy  told  her  all  that  he  knew  of  what  had 
happened,  walking  beside  her  the  while.  Ob- 
serving presently  that  they  were  near  the  park, 
he  suggested  that  they  sit  down  on  a  bench,  as 
he  had  something  very  important  to  tell  her. 


124          With  the  Best  Intention 

11  About  Beans?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"No,"  said  Izzy.  "It's  about  another  dog. 
His  name  is  Izzy  Levine.  He 's  a  poor  dog,  but 
he  wants  to  tell  you  something." 

There  was  something  in  Izzy's  voice  that  be- 
lied his  smiling  eyes  and  brought  the  colour  to 
Rosie 's  cheeks. 

''Miss  Margulies,"  he  said,  when  they  were 
seated, ' '  everybody  tells  me  I  'm  too  fresh.  And 
I  guess  they're  right.  But  I  want  you  to  listen 
to  me  and  not  tell  me  that  I'm  too  fresh  until 
I'm  through,  and  then,  if  you  like,  I'll  get 
straight  up  and  go  away  and  never  bother  you 
any  more. ' ' 

"Where  is  Beans?"  asked  Rosie  quickly. 
*  *  Why  didn  't  you  bring  him  with  you  ? ' ' 

"Miss  Margulies,"  said  Izzy  quietly,  "would 
you  like  me  to  go  away  without  saying  a  word 
and  bring  Beans  up  here  ?  I  '11  do  it  if  you  want 
me  to?" 

Rosie  hesitated.  The  attraction  of  Izzy's 
personality  was  strong,  but  there  was  the 
equally  strong — if  not  stronger — obligation  of 
convention  and  of  maidenly  modesty.  "Why, 
what  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  she  finally 
asked. 

"I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,"  said  Izzy. 


Love's  Young  Dreain  125 

Then  he  smiled.  "I  won't  say  anything  to  hurt 
your  feelings,"  said  he. 

Eosie  demurely  crossed  her  feet,  clasped  her 
hands  in  her  lap,  and  stared  intently  at  the 
sky,  her  lips  pressed  firmly  together.  Izzy  be- 
gan to  tell  her  of  himself,  of  his  parentage,  his 
lazy  boyhood  life,  and  of  all  that  he  had  done 
and  hoped  to  do.  His  voice,  low  tuned  and 
earnest,  fell  pleasantly  upon  the  girl's  ears. 
He  told  her  of  the  many  girls  he  had  known, 
had  danced  with  and  taken  to  theatres — and 
how,  one  and  all,  they  had  failed  to  interest 
him.  He  dwelt  upon  his  consciousness  of  his 
own  ability  and  his  own  laziness. 

''Ever  since  I  was  a  boy  I  knew  I  could  go 
out  and  work  and  make  money  as  fast  as  the 
rest  of  them.  But  I  never  cared.  As  long  as 
I  could  keep  my  mother  and  myself  I  preferred 
to  loaf  along  and  not  bother  about  the  future. 
If  it  should  happen  that  I  would  want  to  wake 
up  and  get  busy — why,  well  and  good.  I'd  do 
it.  But  it  was  more  fun  to  write  poetry  and 
articles  for  the  newspapers  and  take  life  easy. 
And  then,  all  of  a  sudden  I  woke  up. ' ' 

Eosie  was  no  longer  looking  at  the  sky.  Her 
eyes  were  fastened  upon  her  hands.  And  then 
Izzy,  slowly  and  haltingly  at  first,  tried  to  tell 


126          With  the  Best  Intention 

her  of  the  impression  she  had  made  upon  him 
when  first  he  beheld  her.  And  of  how  that  im- 
pression had  grown  stronger  and  stronger. 
His  voice  rose,  and  the  words  came  rolling 
fluently  to  his  tongue.  Youth,  eagerness,  and 
love  comhined  to  inspire  him,  and  there  poured 
forth  a  flood  of  golden  oratory  vibrant  with 
truth  and  passion.  Oh,  that  magic  oratory  of 
youth!  Its  words  are  fragrant  as  blossoming 
flowers:  its  tone  sweet  as  symphonic  music! 
Heedless  of  reason,  of  caution,  of  calculation, 
it  gallops  over  all  obstacles  and  leaps  uner- 
ringly to  its  goal. 

He  told  her  of  his  love.  Slowly  his  hand 
reached  out  and  took  both  of  hers  in  its  grasp. 
Her  lips  were  parted.  She  was  gazing  straight 
ahead,  her  eyes  sparkling  as  if,  in  the  foliage 
before  her,  she  beheld  a  wonderful  vision. 

"I  know  I  haven't  known  you  a  long  time. 
I  know  it  isn't  right  for  me  to  talk  like  this. 
But  I  never  saw  such  a  beautiful  girl  as  you. 
I  never  saw  a  human  being  that  I  loved  as  much 
as  I  love  you.  I  haven't  thought  about  any- 
thing in  the  world  excepting  you  from  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  you.  There  never  was  anybody  in 
the  world  so  lovely  as  you.  And  I  know  I  am 
terribly  fresh  to  expect  that  you  will  ever  care 


Love's  Young  Dream  127 

for  me.  I  won't  kill  myself.  I'm  not  say- 
ing foolish  things.  But  darling — darling — 
darling — I'll  never  have  a  happy  moment  as 
long  as  I  live  away  from  you.  I'll  never  care 
for  anybody  else  on  earth.  I  don't  care  what 
happens  to  me.  My  whole  life  belongs  to  you. 
To  you,  Eosie.  Eosie!" 

He  repeated  the  name,  slowly,  softly,  his  head 
bending  lower  and  lower  toward  hers. 

"To  you,  Eosie — like  Beans.  A  little  dog 
and  a  big  one." 

With  cheeks  flushed  and  eyes  brimming, 
Eosie  looked  at  him,  and  in  his  smiling  face 
read  the  truth — that  great,  wonderful  Truth 
which  only  on  rare  occasions  shines  like  a  light 
upon  the  human  countenance. 

Then  she  withdrew  her  hands  from  his  clasp. 
Her  bosom  heaved. 

"I — I — you  shouldn't  talk  to  me  like  that," 
she  said  slowly.  "I  hardly  know  you.  I — I 
like  you — very  much — I  want  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  But  I  know  I  shouldn't  listen  when  you 
talk  like  that.  Please!"  she  said  hastily,  see- 
ing that  he  was  about  to  interrupt  her,  "Please 
do  not  say  any  more.  Maybe — later — oh!  why 
did  you  talk  to  me  like  that!"  And  the  next 
moment  she  was  in  tears. 


128          With  the  Best  Intention 

Izzy,  heartbroken,  tried  to  console  her.  * '  Oh, 
please  do  not  cry!"  he  exclaimed.  " Forget 
all  about  me.  I'm  not  worth  a  single  tear. 
It's  better  I  should  be  miserable  for  the  rest 
of  my  life  than  that  you  should  cry.  I  could 
kill  myself  for  having  been  such  a  brute. 
Please  forgive  me.  And  forget  everything 
that  I  said." 

But  soon  her  eyes  were  dried,  and  she  turned 
to  him  with  a  smile.  "I'm  terribly  foolish," 
she  said.  "But — I — I  don't  know  what  to  say. 
I  like  you — really  I  like  you — and — and — it's 
all  so  sudden  to  me.  Please  don't  say  any- 
thing more  about  it." 

It  seemed  to  Izzy  that  the  sun  never  shone 
more  resplendent  through  a  summer  cloud  than 
did  Eosie's  smile  through  her  tear-dimmed 
eyes.  He  began  to  talk  of  Beans,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  the  conversation  was  running 
smoothly  along  safer  channels.  Once,  like  a 
reckless  mariner,  Izzy  deliberately  steered  the 
craft  of  talk  upon  the  rocks. 

"There's  one  thing  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  he 
said,  in  a  very  determined  voice.  "I  forgot 
that  you  were  so  rich.  And  I  didn't  even  think 
of  telling  you  that  I  don't  care  a  what-do-you- 
cfaH-um  for  all  your  father's  money.  When  we 


Love's  Young  Dream  129 

get  married  we'll  start  all  by  ourselves.  You'll 
have  everything  in  the  world  you  want  from 
me.  Of  course  I  suppose  your  father  will 
make  an  awful  fuss  about  your  marrying  me, 
but  you're  going  to  marry  me  as  soon  as  you 
love  me.  And  if  you  don't  love  me  some  day 
I'll  die.  No — please  don't  get  up.  I  won't 
say  another  word.  On  my  honour.  I  just  felt 
I  had  to  tell  you  that.  But  I'll  talk  only  about 
Beans.  I  swear  I  won't  say  any  more  about 
myself.  There — you  can  move  over  to  the 
other  end  of  the  bench.  But  you  ought  to  see 
the  look  in  Gompy's — I  mean  Beansy's — face 
when  I  ask  him  where  he's  been  all  afternoon. 
He  looks  as  if  he  were  just  dying  to  talk  to  me. 
Do  you  suppose  dogs  think  just  as  we  do?  I'm 
sure  Beans  has  more  sense  than  a  great  many 
people  that  I  know.  Don't  you!" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  Eosie. 

And  then  Izzy,  being  wise  in  his  generation, 
began  to  talk  of  other  things.  It  seemed  that 
they  had  many  acquaintances  in  common — 
people  whom  Rosie  had  not  seen  since  her 
father  had  moved  up-town — and  in  the  inter- 
change of  gossip  they  were  soon  talking  as  if 
they  had  known  each  other  for  years. 

There   was    something   magnetic    in    Izzy''s 


130          With  the  Best  Intention 

story-telling,  and  Eosie,  laughing  merrily  at 
his  every  anecdote,  soon  found  herself  pouring 
the  secret  aspirations  of  her  soul  into  his  ears. 
It  was  when  Izzy,  bubbling  over  with  enthus- 
iasm, described  his  ambition  to  become  a  jour- 
nalist that  Eosie  confided  to  him  one  of  the 
great  secrets  of  her  life. 

"Papa  doesn't  know  anything  about  it,"  said 
she,  "and  I'm  sure  he'd  be  awfully  mad  if  he 
knew.  But  I'm  secretary  of  the  Woman's  Suf- 
frage League  of  the  Daughters  of  Eebecca  and 
— you  believe  in  women  voting,  don't  you?" 

Izzy  gazed  into  the  beautiful  eyes  upturned 
to  his  so  trustfully.  "You  bet!"  said  he. 

"And  I'm  just  dying,"  continued  Eosie,  "to 
make  a  speech  that  will  make  all  the  other  girls 
envious.  I  can  talk  all  right — I  took  lessons 
in  elocution — but  I  don't  know  what  to  say. 
And  if  you  can  write  for  the  papers  you  could 
easily  write  out  something  for  me  to  say. 
Couldn't  you?" 

Izzy  looked  into  her  eyes  that  were  so 
clear  and  blue.  "I'll  write  you  a  speech,"  he 
said,  "that  will  make  all  the  other  girls  crazy 
with  envy.  I'll  get  you  up  the  finest  speech 
in  favour  of  women  voting  that  you  ever  heard. 
I'll—" 


Love's  Young  Dream  131 

A  policeman,  sauntering  along  his  beat,  came 
into  view,  and  Rosie,  discovering  to  her  great 
amazement  that  Izzy  had  taken  possession  of 
her  hand  again — hastily  withdrew  it  and  rose 
from  the  bench. 

"I  forgot  all  about  Beans!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Where  is  he?" 

Izzy  hesitated  for  an  instant.  ''I  left  him 
at  home  with  my  mother,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "because  I  hoped  you  would  go  down 
and  meet  her.  I  know  you'll  like  her.  And 
you  can  bring  Beans  up-town  with  you.  You'll 
come,  won't  you?  I'll  wait  down-stairs,  and 
you  can  go  up  and  get  him  all  by  yourself.  My 
mother  is  just  dying  to  see  you.  I've  been  do- 
ing nothing  but  talk  to  her  about  you  since  I 
saw  you." 

Rosie  frowned. 

"Remember,"  said  Izzy  quickly,  "what  the 
Talmud  says  about  young  people  going  to  see 
old  people.  We  should  always  be  very  respect- 
ful to  those  who  are  older  than  we  are." 

And  then  Rosie  burst  into  laughter.  "You 
certainly  are  a  fresh  young  man,"  she  said. 
"The  idea  of  your  talking  about  the  Talmud." 
For  a  moment  she  looked  into  his  dancing  eyes, 
hesitating.  Then,  "All  right.  I'll  go  with 


132          With  the  Best  Intention 

you,"  she  said.  "But  you  must  promise  to  be- 
have yourself  on  the  way  and  be  sensible. " 

Izzy  was  ready  to  promise  anything. 
Youth's  readiness  to  promise  is  one  of  youth's 
most  charming  attributes.  They  journeyed 
down-town  together,  and  when  they  reached  the 
tenement  in  which  Izzy  lived  he  insisted  upon 
remaining  below  while  Eosie  went  up-stairs  to 
claim  the  dog.  The  moment  Eosie  entered  the 
house  Izzy  ran  to  the  corner  drug-store  to  tele- 
phone for  a  taxicab.  And  then  he  hastened  to 
his  bank  to  draw  some  money.  He  was  de- 
termined that  Eosie  and  the  dog  should  ride  up- 
town in  style. 

Eosie,  meanwhile,  was  submitting  to  the  en- 
thusiastic caresses  of  Beans.  The  moment  he 
beheld  her  he  had  begun  to  yelp  with  all  his 
might  and  to  leap  upon  her  as  high  as  he  could 
until  she  took  him  upon  her  lap  and  allowed 
him  to  lick  her  face.  It  took  but  a  few  min- 
utes for  Eosie  and  Mrs.  Levine  to  grow  fond 
of  each  other.  Eosie 's  interest  in  Izzy  was  al- 
ready great  enough  to  enable  her  to  listen  with 
pleasure  to  his  mother's  recital  of  his  virtues. 
And  when  two  women  have  a  common  interest 
they  get  on  famously.  Beans  was  soon  for- 
gotten. While  Mrs.  Levine  was  telling  her 


Love's  Young  Dream  133 

pretty  visitor  of  Izzy's  many  good  qualities 
Beans  jumped  from  his  mistress's  lap  and,  find- 
ing the  door  open,  slipped  down  the  stairs. 

"Only  an  hour  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Levine 
proudly,  "  comes  a  young  man  from  the  Yiddish 
Arbeit er  to  ask  Izzy  to  come  to  the  office  and 
see  the  boss.  Because  they  had  decided  to  give 
him  the  prize  for  his  article  about  women  who 
want  to  vote.  And  the  young  man  said  maybe 
Izzy  could  get  a  job  on  the  Yiddish  Arbeit  er  to 
write  regularly. " 

"Did  he  write  about  woman's  suffrage?" 
asked  Rosie  eagerly.  "He  didn't  tell  me  about 
that," 

"Oh,  Izzy  isn't  a  bragger,"  said  Mrs.  Le- 
vine, "but  he  wrote  the  finest  article  you  ever 
read.  Those  foolish  women  who  want  to  vote ! 
What  will  they  say  when  they  read  Izzy's  ar- 
ticle! They  will  feel  so  silly.  I  remember 
nearly  every  word  of  it — I  read  it  so  often 
'Poor,  foolish  suffragettes!'  That's  the  way 
it  begins." 

And  then  Mrs.  Levine  calmly  recited  the  whole 
contents  of  Izzy's  article,  repeating  many  pas- 
sages verbatim  and  gloating  over  the  most 
vicious  of  his  attacks  upon  the  claims  of  the 
suffragettes,  and  so  interested  was  she  in  the 


134          With  the  Best  Intention 

recital  that  she  did  not  notice  the  look  of  in- 
dignation that  came  to  her  hearer's  face. 
When  she  had  finished,  Rosie,  with  lips  tightly 
pressed  together,  arose. 

''Where  is  my  dog?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Levine,  somewhat  taken  aback,  glanced 
around  the  room  and  saw  the  open  door.  "I 
guess  he  ran  down-stairs.  He  always  does  that. 
But  he  will  be  back  in  a  little  while.  Won't 
you  wait?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Rosie  frigidly.  "I'll 
probably  find  him  down-stairs.  Good-bye." 

And  without  another  word  she  was  gone, 
leaving  Izzy's  mother  thoroughly  perplexed. 
When  Eosie  reached  the  street  she  met  Izzy 
returning  from  the  bank  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, a  taxicab  drew  up  in  front  of  the  house. 

"Where  is  Beans!"  she  asked.  "He  ran 
down-stairs. ' ' 

Izzy,  instantly  aware  of  some  change  in  her, 
asked  her  quickly  what  had  happened. 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  she  replied  icily. 
"I  want  my  dog." 

"Please!"  urged  Izzy,  standing  humbly  be- 
fore her.  "Please  tell  me  what  is  the  matter. 
Something  has  hurt  your  feelings.  I  know  it." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!"  replied  Rosie  with  a  forced 


Love's  Young  Dream  135 

laugh.  ''My  feelings  aren't  hurt  a  bit.  I 
really  am  not  at  all  interested  whether  you  are 
in  favour  of  woman's  suffrage  or  against  it. 
I  only  want  to  find  my  dog  and  go  home." 

"Did  my  mother  tell  you — "  began  Izzy,  but 
she  interrupted. 

"She  did.  And,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  do  not 
care  to  hear  any  more  about  it.  Where  is 
Beans?" 

Izzy,  chagrined,  bewildered,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  absolutely  at  a  loss  for  speech, 
looked  around  the  street  and,  in  a  feeble  voice, 
began  calling: 

"Beans!    Beans!    Here,  Beans!" 

Eosie,  despite  her  annoyance,  had  to  smile. 
"You'll  have  to  call  louder  than  that.  Ask 
those  boys  over  there  if  they  have  seen  any- 
thing of  him." 

Izzy  approached  a  group  of  small  boys  who 
were  playing  marbles  on  the  sidewalk.  "Did 
any  of  you  see  a  little  dog  running  around 
here?"  he  asked. 

"Sure,"  said  one  of  the  boys.  "Mr.  Lapido- 
witz's  dog.  Sammy  Lefkovitz  just  seen  him 
and  grabbed  him.  He's  gone  off  to  take  him 
back  to  Mr.  Lapidowitz.  Sammy  always  gets 
a  quarter  when  he  brings  him  back. ' ' 


VIII 
Just  as  It  Happened 

LIFE  itself,  you  have  been  informed,  often 
progresses  in  an  incoherent  fashion,  with- 
out rhyme  or  reason,  and  the  philosopher  who 
undertakes  to  grasp  the  phenomena  of  coin- 
cidence or  the  natural  sequence  of  cause  and 
effect  usually  has  nothing  but  a  headache  for 
his  pains.  A  man  endeavouring  to  avoid  the 
danger  of  a  brick  falling  from  a  building 
in  course  of  construction  takes  to  the  middle  of 
the  street.  We  call  this  caution.  Then,  unex- 
pectedly, the  middle  of  the  street  caves  in. 
What  is  the  use  of  calling  it  anything? 

Lapidowitz,  with  a  check  for  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  dollars  in  his  pocket,  started 
for  the  bank  the  moment  Nathan  Gomprecht 
took  the  dog  away.  He  knew  the  cashier  of 
Nathan's  bank,  and  he  wanted  to  obtain  money 
for  the  check  as  quickly  as  possible.  Checks 
were  good  enough  in  their  way,  but  they  lacked 
the  fascination  for  Lapidowitz  that  ready  cash 
possessed.  On  the  way  to  the  bank  he  stopped 

136 


Just  as  It  Happened  137 

to  order  a  suit  of  clothes.  He  was  very  par- 
ticular in  the  selection  of  the  material  and  gave 
the  most  detailed  instructions  as  to  how  the 
suit  was  to  be  cut. 

"I  come  back  inside  half  an  hour,"  said  he, 
"und  gif  you  some  money  on  account." 

Then  he  went  to  another  store  and  ordered 
a  new  silk  hat,  and  to  still  another,  where  he  se- 
lected some  brilliant  scarfs.  These  he  ordered 
sent  "collect"  to  his  room.  Then  he  proceeded 
to  the  bank. 

"Mr.  Gompreeht  stopped  payment  on  this 
check,"  said  the  teller  after  glancing  at  the 
paper. 

Lapidowitz's  eyes  blinked  a  great  many 
times,  and  something  seemed  to  be  choking  him. 
"Say  it  again!"  he  managed  to  gurgle. 

"Only  a  minute  ago,"  explained  the  teller, 
"Mr.  Gomprecht  calls  up  on  the  telephone  and 
says  we  shouldn't  pay  this  check.  He  says  he 
gave  it  to  you  for  a  dog  and  the  dog  ran  away 
from  him.  Maybe  he  don't  know  you  well 
enough  to  trust  you!"  This  last  was  accom- 
panied with  a  grin.  The  teller  knew  Lapido- 
witz. 

The  schnorrer  gazed  at  him  blankly.  "Does 
it  mean  I  don't  get  the  money?"  he  asked. 


138          With  the  Best  Intention 

"It  means,"  explained  the  teller,  "you  don't 
get  the  money  out  of  this  bank  on  this  check 
just  now.  Maybe  some  other  time,  if  you  have 
another  check,  it  will  be  different.  But  I'm 
busy  now.  Good-bye!" 

And  Lapidowitz,  without  another  word, 
turned  and  left  the  bank.  He  went  straight 
home  and,  without  removing  his  hat,  threw 
himself  into  a  chair  and  began  to  curse  Nathan 
Gomprecht.  Like  the  cardinal  in  the  Ingoldsby 
Legends, 

He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 
From  the  soul  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head. 

Then  he  proceeded  to  perform  the  same  func- 
tion for  Izzy  Levine  as  the  original  cause  of 
all  his  unhappiness.  After  this  he  cursed 
Beans.  The  very  thought  of  the  dog  seemed 
to  stimulate  his  imagination,  and  many  ef- 
fective words  that  he  had  overlooked  before 
came  glibly  to  his  tongue.  For  several  hours 
he  sat  nursing  his  gloomy  wrath,  and,  in  his 
own  peculiar  fashion,  he  enjoyed  it.  There 
came  a  knock  upon  the  door.  "Come  in !"  said 
Lapidowitz,  and  a  boy  entered  the  room. 

"I'm  f 'um  der  tailor.    He  says  when  do  you 


Just  as  It  Happened  139 

come  vit'  der  money  for  der  suit,  because  lie 
don't  go  ahead  vit 'out!" 

"Tell  him  I  got  a  new  tailor,"  answered 
Lapidowitz.  And  then,  glad  of  a  new  channel 
for  his  thoughts,  he  proceeded  to  curse  the 
tailor.  Soon  the  hat  and  the  scarfs  arrived, 
and,  after  they  had  departed,  Lapidowitz  ex- 
pended what  was  left  of  his  vocabulary  of  im- 
precation upon  the  innocent  storekeepers  who 
had  sent  them.  Again  there  came  a  knock  upon 
the  door,  and,  prepared  this  time  to  hurl  the 
intruder  down  the  stairs,  Lapidowitz  opened 
the  door  himself.  With  a  loud  yelp  and  a  swift 
rush  a  dog  darted  through  the  doorway  and 
closed  his  teeth  upon  the  calf  of  Lapidowitz 's 
leg.  Lapidowitz  shrieked,  more  in  terror  than 
in  pain,  and,  loosening  the  dog's  hold  with  one 
swift  kick,  sprang  nimbly  upon  the  table. 
Then  Sammy  Lefkovitz,  his  eyes  open  with 
amazement,  entered  the  room. 

"V'y  does  he  bite  you?"  he  asked.  "Don't 
he  like  you?" 

"Shut  der  door,  qvick!  Shut  der  door!" 
cried  Lapidowitz.  "So!  You  haf  come 
back?" 

He  looked  down  from  his  vantage-point  of 


140          With  the  Best  Intention 

safety  at  the  two  gleaming  rows  of  Beans 's 
teeth,  and  then  he  grinned. 

"Diss  time,  doggie,  I  guess  ve  keep  company 
a  Jiddle  bit.  No,  Sammy,  he  don't  alvays  bite. 
Only  sometimes  v'en  he  gets  egcited.  But  you 
are  a  good  boy,  und  so  soon  vot  I  get  change 
for  five  dollars,  I  gif  you  a  qvarter!  Now  go 
in  der  closet  over  in  der  corner,  Sammy,  und 
get  a  piece  of  rop  vot  you  find  dere.  So !  Now 
tie  him  good  und  fast  by  der  collar.  So! 
Now  be  a  good  boy  und  sit  down  a  minute.  I 
haf  got  to  t'ink." 

After  the  lad  had  carried  out  his  instruc- 
tions, Lapidowitz  sat  squatted  upon  the  table 
plunged  in  deep  thought.  Then  a  smile  came 
to  his  face — a  smile  of  sheer  delight. 

"My!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  down  from  the 
table  as  far  from  the  dog  as  possible.  "I'm 
a  smart  man!  Sammy,  I'm  der  smartest  man 
in  New  York.  Now  you  come  down-stairs  und 
follow  me.  But  hold  fast  to  der  rope,  und  don 't 
let  dot  dog  come  near  me.  Promise  it, 
Sammy!" 

"Sure!"  said  Sammy.  "He  does  everyt'ing 
what  I  tell  him. ' ' 

"I  know  it.  But  don't  let  go  uf  der  rope!" 
urged  Lapidowitz  earnestly.  They  left  the 


Just  as  It  Happened  141 

house  and  started  down  the  street,  Lapidowitz 
walking  swiftly  ahead  with  many  an  anxious 
backward  glance  and  Sammy  behind  him  hold- 
ing fast  to  the  dog,  who  was  straining  with 
might  and  main  to  get  at  Lapidowitz.  They 
came  to  a  livery-stable,  where  Lapidowitz  asked 
what  it  would  cost  to  drive  him  and  the  dog  to 
Margulies's  house. 

"Up  there  and  back  or  only  up?"  inquired 
the  stableman. 

"For  me  und  der  dog  up.  I  come  down  by 
der  trolley-car.  Vot?  Five  dollars?  Such  a 
liddle  dog?  I  only  vant  a  small  carriage." 

But  it  seemed  that  the  only  available  equi- 
page in  the  stable  was  one  of  those  huge,  old- 
fashioned  coaches  so  familiar  at  swell  East  Side 
functions,  and  Lapidowitz  had  to  pay  the 
regular  wedding  or  funeral  rate.  Further- 
more, he  was  asked  to  pay  in  advance  because, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  his  appearance 
aroused  vague  suspicions  in  the  stableman's 
mind. 

"Hey,  there,  Dennis!"  cried  the  stableman. 
From  a  dark  corner  of  the  stable  emerged  a 
thick-set,  broad-shouldered,  square-jawed,  red- 
faced,  and  cross-eyed  specimen  of  humanity  to 
whom,  for  sotne  inscrutable  reason,  LagLdoVitz 


142          With  the  Best  Intention 

took  a  prompt  dislike.  The  stableman  pointed 
to  Lapidowitz  with  his  thumb. 

''He  wants  to  go  up-town  with  the  dog,"  he 
explained.  "Take  him  up  and  leave  him. 
He'll  pay  in  advance." 

Dennis  filled  his  mouth  with  chewing-tobacco, 
inspected  Lapidowitz  in  a  somewhat  contemptu- 
ous fashion,  and  mounted  to  his  seat.  There 
being  nothing  else  to  do,  Lapidowitz  paid  the 
money,  bade  Sammy  Lefkovitz  put  the  dog  into 
the  coach  and  draw  all  the  curtains,  and,  after 
making  sure  that  the  doors  were  securely  closed, 
mounted  beside  the  driver. 

"How  about  dot  qvarter?"  asked  Sammy. 

"So  soon  v'en  I  come  back  you  get  it,"  said 
Lapidowitz. 

"Why  didn't  you  give  the  kid  a  quarter?" 
asked  the  driver,  gazing  curiously  at  Lapido- 
witz. 

"V'y  I  didn't?  Because  dot  five  dollars  I 
gif  your  boss  iss  der  last  cent  vot  I  got.  But 
so  soon  I  get  up-town,  my!  vot  a  lot  of  money 
Ivillhaf!" 

In  the  meantime  Izzy  Levine  and  the  Light  of 
his  Life  were  having  troubles  of  their  own. 
When  Izzy,  with  bewildered  countenance,  re- 
ported to  her  that  Beans  was  on  his  way  back  to 


Just  as  It  Happened  143 

Lapidowitz,  she  gazed  at  him  for  an  instant  and 
then  burst  into  laughter. 

"What's  the  joke?"  asked  Izzy. 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  too  funny  for  anything!" 
cried  Rosie.  "Every  time  you  think  you  have 
the  dog  he  goes  back  to  that  man."  And  she 
went  off  into  another  peal  of  laughter.  But, 
suddenly  remembering  that  she  was  very  angry 
with  the  young  man,  she  became  serious. 
"  Anyway,"  said  she,  in  the  haughtiest  tone  that 
she  could  summon,  "I  can't  stay  here  all  day.  I 
must  go  home." 

Izzy,  his  lips  pressed  tightly  together,  led  her 
to  the  taxicab.  As  she  got  in  she  told  him  her 
address.  To  her  surprise  Izzy  gave  the  driver 
an  entirely  different  address  and  got  in  beside 
her. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"To  Mr.  Lapidowitz 's  house,"  said  Izzy. 
"We  ought  to  get  there  before  the  boy  who  has 
Beans.  We'll  wait  outside  his  house  until  the 
boy  conies." 

Rosie  said  nothing,  but  stared  straight  before 
her.  Izzy  looked  at  her  for  some  time  and  then, 
in  a  low  voice, 

"Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  what  to 
say.  I  didn't  mean  to  lie  to  you.  I  don't  care 


144          With  the  Best  Intention 

whether  women  vote  or  not — really  I  don't! 
It's  true  I  wrote  that  article  and — it's  true  I 
felt  that  way  about  it  when  I  wrote  it.  But  I 
hadn't  met  you,  and — and  I  was  just  crazy  to 
write  something.  And  then  when  I  met  you — 
and  everything  changed — and  you  told  me  how 
I  could  do  something  for  you — honestly,  I  would 
have  written  a  speech  to  show  that  burglary  was 
a  fine  trade  if  you  wanted  me  to.  You  believe 
me,  don't  you?" 

But  Kosie  gazed  straight  ahead  in  silence. 
She  refused  to  allow  her  wrath  to  be  so  easily 
appeased.  He  had  seemed  such  a  nice  young 
man,  and  he  had  so  cruelly  deceived  her.  She 
would  show  him  that  she  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  Slowly  Izzy  reached  out  his  hand  and 
laid  it  gently  upon  hers.  She  allowed  it  to  rest 
there  about  two  seconds;  then  she  drew  hers 
away.  Izzy  sighed  and  looked  out  the  window. 
And  as  he  looked — 

Life  as  we  all  know,  is  most  unreasonable  in 
its  inconsistency.  Not  only  do  our  best  laid 
plans  often  "gang  agley,"  but  those  who  have 
made  the  closest  study  of  life's  rules  are  the 
most  bewildered  by  the  exceptions.  When  a 
man  devotes  his  life  to  frugality,  works  hard, 
day  and  night,  in  order  to  accumulate  in  the 


Just  as  It  Happened  145 

bank  a  sufficient  sum  to  enable  him  to  pass  his 
declining  years  in  rest  and  comfort,  he  is  consid- 
ered wise.  But,  supposing,  just  as  he  bids  fare- 
well to  his  occupation  and  retires  to  idleness, 
the  bank  fails!  What's  the  use  of  philosophis- 
ing about  it  1 

Izzy  rapped  furiously  upon  the  window  of  the 
taxicab.  The  driver  brought  the  cab  to  a  halt 
and  looked  around.  But  Izzy,  with  an  impera- 
tive ''Wait!''  had  already  opened  the  door, 
jumped  out,  and  was  running  back.  The  driver 
drew  the  car  along  the  curb  and  got  down  from 
his  seat  to  see  what  had  happened.  The  next 
moment, 

' '  Well,  I  '11  be — say,  that 's  a  shame ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Eosie  alighted  and  looked  around.  "Where 
did  he  go!"  she  asked.  And  then,  ''Oh,  isn't 
that  terrible!" 

About  a  hundred  feet  away  the  feeblest  horse 
that  she  had  ever  seen  was  struggling  desper- 
ately to  pull  a  heavily  laden  pedlar's  wagon  that 
had  become  stuck  in  a  rut  in  the  street.  It  was 
a  load  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  animal's 
strength.  And  the  driver,  a  tall,  burly  chap, 
was  lashing  the  horse  with  might  and  main. 
Rosie's  cheeks  blanched  with  indignation. 


146          With  the  Best  Intention 

"That  young  man  of  yours  is  a  peach!"  ex- 
claimed the  taxicab-driver.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  Bosie  saw  Izzy.  He  was  climbing  upon 
the  wheel  of  the  wagon.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  driver's  arm  and  spoke  to  him.  Eosie  could 
not  hear  what  he  said,  nor  could  she  hear  the 
driver's  reply.  But  she  saw  him  lash  the  horse 
again,  and  then  beheld  Izzy  strike  him  upon 
the  chin,  so  swiftly  and  with  such  force  that 
the  driver  toppled  from  his  seat  and  fell  to  the 
ground. 

"Good!"  cried  Eosie,  clapping  her  hands. 
But  in  a  twinkling  the  driver  was  on  his  feet  and 
rushing  at  Izzy.  They  came  to  a  clinch,  and 
then  a  crowd  that  seemed  to  have  sprung  from 
the  very  sidewalk  hid  them  from  Eosie 's  view. 
She  ran  forward  and  was  aware  that  a  police- 
man was  running  beside  her.  The  crowd  made 
way  for  them,  and  Eosie  saw  that  the  combat 
was  over.  Izzy,  breathing  heavily,  was  leaning 
against  the  wagon,  a  tiny  stream  of  blood  trick- 
ling from  his  nose.  The  driver  lay  full  length 
upon  the  sidewalk  groping  about  him,  struggling 
to  rise.  The  policeman  listened  to  every  one's 
story  and  then, 

"You're  both  pinched!"  he  said.  "Come 
along!" 


Just  as  It  Happened  147 

"But  lie  was  only  trying  to  save  the  horse," 
cried  Eosie.  "That  brute  was  beating  that 
poor,  little  horse!" 

"I  can't  help  it,  lady,"  said  the  policeman. 
"You  can  come  along  as  a  witness.  But  I've 
got  to  take  them  both  in. ' ' 

"It's  an  outrage!"  exclaimed  Eosie. 

"It's  assault  and  battery,"  said  the  police- 
man. * '  The  driver  says  your  husband  punched 
him,  and  that  puts  it  up  to  the  captain. ' ' 

Eosie  blushed  furiously,  whereat  Izzy  turned 
his  head  to  hide  a  smile.  Policeman,  prisoners, 
taxicab-driver,  and  spectators  all  helped  to  push 
the  pedlar's  wagon  out  of  the  rut,  and  then,  the 
pedlar,  leading  his  horse  and  the  policeman 
walking  amiably  alongside  Izzy,  the  procession 
started  for  the  station  house. 

"Lady,"  said  the  taxicab-driver,  "you'd  bet- 
ter let  me  drive  you  around  to  the  station.  We 
can  tell  what  happened,  and  if  your  young  man 
needs  bail  you  can  go  and  get  it. ' ' 

Her  husband !  Her  young  man !  Why  should 
every  one  assume  so  quickly  that  they  were 
anything  but  mere  acquaintances  I  Eosie 
was  indignant.  But  then  came  the  quick  recol- 
lection of  Izzy's  courage,  his  sympathy  for  a 
poor,  dumb  beast,  and  his  strength.  Eosie 's 


148          With  the  Best  Intention 

indignation  died  away,  and  a  glow  of  pride  suc- 
ceeded it.  She  would  stand  hy  him  to  the  bitter 
end. 

It  happened  that  the  police  captain  on  duty 
at  the  station  house  was  intelligent.  This 
really  happens  sometimes.  After  listening  to 
both  sides  he  asked  the  driver  why  he  had  beaten 
the  horse. 

"I'm  sorry  I  did  it,"  answered  the  driver,  in 
Yiddish,  "but  I've  been  out  of  work  for  a  week, 
and  I  got  excited  because  I  had  a  job  to  deliver 
a  load.  I  won't  do  it  again." 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  punched  him, ' '  said  Izzy.  Then 
the  captain  made  them  shake  hands  and  told 
them  to  go  home.  Izzy  returned  to  the  taxicab 
with  Eosie.  "I'm  awfully  sorry  it  happened," 
he  said  earnestly.  "I  was  hoping  you  would 
go  home.  I'll  never  forgive  myself  for  letting 
you  go  to  a  station  house." 

But  Eosie  suddenly  turned  pale  and  was  fum- 
bling in  a  bag  that  she  carried.  ' '  You  're  hurt ! ' ' 
she  gasped.  "Your  nose  is  bleeding." 

Izzy  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  sat  per- 
fectly still  while  she  applied  a  delicately  per- 
fumed handkerchief  to  his  nose.  And  then, 
feeling  the  soft  coolness  of  her  hand  against  his 


Just  as  It  Happened  149 

lips  and  being  a  thoroughly  disreputable  scamp, 
he  leaned  back  against  the  cushioned  seat  and 
said, 

"It  hurts  terribly!" 

Of  course  as  long  as  it  hurt  she  had  to  hold 
the  handkerchief  in  place.  And  if  Izzy's  lips 
kept  moving  against  her  hand  she  could  hardly 
chide  him — he  had  suffered  so.  He  might  even 
die. 

' '  Do  you  forgive  me  about  that — that  foolish 
article  I  wrote?"  he  asked,  in  the  low  voice  of 
an  invalid.  Bosie  nodded.  She  could  hardly 
trust  herself  to  speak.  Then  Izzy  sat  up, 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  upon  the 
lips. 

"The  pain  has  gone,"  he  said.  "Now  we'll 
get  your  dog.  And  we'll  never  quarrel  again. 
And  as  long  as  I  live  I'll  never  do  or  say  any- 
thing that  you  won't  like." 

Rosie,  red  as  the  flower  whose  name  she  bore, 
looked  at  him.  What  was  the  use  of  getting  an- 
gry? He  was  handsome,  he  was  undeniably  in 
love  with  her,  and  she  had  just  had  a  glimpse  of 
his  nature  that  appealed  strongly  to  her.  What 
woman  has  ever  yet  failed  to  respond  to  the  ap- 
peal of  courage  accompanied  by  strength?  Is 


150          With  the  Best  Intention 

there  not  that  streak  of  the  primitive  in  all  of 
them?  But  though  Eosie's  eyes  shone  brightly 
she  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"You  certainly  are  fresh,"  she  said. 

While  Izzy  had  thus  been  gaining  ground  he 
had  been  losing  time,  and  when  they  reached 
Lapidowitz's  house  the  schnorrer  and  the  dog 
were  gone.  Izzy  was  crestfallen. 

"This  time,"  said  he,  as  they  rode  uptown, 
"I  guess  he'll  hold  on  to  Beans  until  he  gets  the 
reward." 

But  Eosie  took  it  lightly.  "What  difference 
does  it  make!  He  can't  get  the  reward  unless 
he  brings  the  dog  back,  and  as  long  as  I  get 
Beans  it  doesn't  matter  how  I  get  him." 

Izzy  shook  his  head.  "It  isn't  right,"  he 
said.  "I  can't  help  feeling  that  you  shouldn't 
get  the  dog  back  from  anybody  but  me.  Beans 
brought  me  all  my  luck,  and  it  will  be  bad  luck 
for  me  if  any  one  else  brings  him  back.  Some 
day  I'll  get  square  with  Lapidowitz  for  this." 

"You're  superstitious,"  said  Eosie  laugh- 
ingly. "It  just  serves  you  right  for  writing  an 
article  against  woman  suffrage." 

Izzy  smiled  sheepishly,  but  even  when  Eosie 
impulsively  laid  her  hand  upon  his  he  refused  to 
be  consoled.  '  *  I  can 't  explain  it, "  he  said,  "  but 


Just  as  It  Happened  151 

I  have  a  feeling  that  if  I  bring  Beans  back  to 
you  everything  will  be  all  right  and  if  I  don't 
everything  will  be  all  wrong." 

As  they  turned  into  the  block  on  which  Kosie 
lived  she  exclaimed:  "There's  papa.  Let's 
get  out  and  walk  home  with  him." 

Izzy  discharged  the  taxicab,  and  a  moment 
later  underwent  the  ordeal  of  an  introduction 
to  Kosie 's  father. 

' '  This  is  Mr.  Levine,  papa, ' '  she  said.  ' '  He 's 
the  gentleman  who  found  Beans." 

Mr.  Margulies  had  keen  eyes,  and  Izzy  felt 
himself  slowly  shrinking  under  their  penetrat- 
ing gaze. 

"Do  you  alvays  ride  in  taxicabs?"  was  Mr. 
Margulies 's  first  question.  Rosie  explained 
what  had  happened,  laying  great  stress  upon 
Izzy's  noble  championship  of  the  skinny  horse 
and  his  brave  assault  of  the  brutal  driver,  when 
she  suddenly  discovered  that  she  was  holding 
fast  to  Izzy's  hand  and,  blushing  violently,  be- 
came quite  incoherent  in  her  narrative.  Mr. 
Margulies  gazed  at  Izzy  with  great  interest. 

In  the  struggle  for  existence  in  which  he  had 
won,  he  had  learned  to  measure  men.  He  was 
a  very  stubborn  person,  this  Mr.  Margulies,  ac- 
cepting no  standards  of  life  or  conduct  except 


152          With  the  Best  Intention 

such  as  he  fixed  himself,  and  he  was  far  from 
being  a  fool.  He  had  suspected  in  a  flash  how 
matters  stood  between  his  daughter  and  this 
young  man,  and  he  had  the  wisdom  not  to  open 
his  mouth  until  he  had  made  up  his  mind  just 
what  stand  he  would  take.  But  Izzy,  feeling 
himself  being  measured,  did  some  quick  measur- 
ing himself.  Returning  the  older  man's  gaze 
frankly,  he  said: 

"You  look  like  a  smart  man,  Mr.  Margulies. 
There's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush.  I'm 
just  crazy  about  your  daughter.  I  might  just 
as  well  say  it  now  as  at  any  other  time.  I  want 
to  marry  her.  I  don't  want  her  to  have  a  penny 
from  you.  I  can  take  care  of  her." 

Mr.  Margulies  looked  at  his  daughter,  who, 
red  with  confusion,  returned  his  gaze  defiantly, 
but  said  never  a  word.  Then  he  grunted. 

"H'm!"  said  he.  "Mr.  Levine!  Der  gen- 
tleman vot  got  Beans!  H'm!  Vare  iss 
Beans?" 

It  was  Izzy's  turn  to  redden.  "You  see,"  he 
said  to  Eosie,  "your  father  gets  right  down  to 
the  whole  point  of  the  matter."  He  then  told 
the  whole  story  of  Beans  and  Lapidowitz,  and 
during  the  recital  Mr.  Margulies  never  took  his 
eyes  from  Izzy's  face. 


Just  as  It  Happened  153 

'  *  H  'm ! ' '  he  said,  when  Izzy  had  finished.  * '  I 
guess  dot's  dot  old  loafer  vot  I  gif  my  card  to 
when  I  looked  for  der  dog.  Und  I  said  I  gif 
him  a  hundert  und  fifty  if  he  brings  him  back. 
So  I  suppose  ven  he  comes  mit  der  dog  I  haf  to 
gif  him  der  money."  He  looked  at  Izzy 
thoughtfully  a  moment.  Then,  "Und  in  addi- 
tion you  exbect  to  marry  Rosie  ? ' '  said  he.  Izzy 
nodded. 

"Veil,"  said  Mr.  Margulies,  "vait  till  comes 
der  dog.  Dis  marriage  business  comes  kind  of 
sudden.  Come  in  der  house,  Rosie,  und  ven  ve 
get  der  dog  settled  ve  talk  about  Mister  Vot's- 
his-name — oh,  yes! — Levine.  Good  afternoon, 
Mr.  Levine. ' ' 

Izzy  remained  standing  upon  the  sidewalk  un- 
til the  door  closed  upon  Mr.  Margulies  and  his 
daughter.  Not  once  did  she  turn  to  look  at  him. 
With  a  heavy  heart  Izzy  started  for  the  elevated 
station. 

Some  fifteen  minutes  before  this  Lapidowitz 
had  rung  the  bell  of  Mr.  Margulies 's  house,  and 
being  told  that  none  of  the  family  was  at  home 
had  said  he  would  return  in  half  an  hour.  Then 
he  said  to  Dennis,  the  driver  of  the  carriage : 

"Ve  got  to  vait.  Mr.  Margulies  ain'd  home, 
but  he  comes  soon  for  supper. ' ' 


154          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Take  the  dorg  out!"  said  Dennis  curtly. 

Lapidowitz  stared  at  him.  "Der  dog?"  he 
repeated.  "Take  him  ouid?  I  guess  not!" 

"Then  ye've  got  another  guess  comin',"  said 
Dennis.  "It  wuz  five  dollars  up  for  you  and 
the  dorg.  Ye 're  up.  So's  the  dorg.  There 
wuzn't  nothin'  said  about  waitin'.  Waitin's 
extra.  Them's  me  orders!" 

Slowly  the  full  significance  of  his  position 
dawned  upon  Lapidowitz,  and  his  face  began  to 
perspire.  He  looked  around  in  every  direc- 
tion and  then  mounted  to  the  seat  beside  the 
driver. 

* '  Drive  around  der  corner, ' '  he  said.  *  *  I  vant 
to  have  a  talk  vit'  you!" 

"I'll  drive  to  a  saloon,"  said  Dennis.  "I'm 
dying  for  a  drink.  Me  throat's  full  o'  saw- 
dust." 

They  drove  to  a  little  German  place  on  Third 
Avenue  which  Dennis  had  noticed  on  the  way  up- 
town. Lapidowitz,  after  descending  from  his 
seat,  held  his  ear  to  the  carriage  door,  but  heard 
no  sound.  He  turned  the  handle  and  opened 
the  door  about  half  an  inch.  A  reassuring 
"Gr-r-r-r!"  came  from  within. 

"He  iss  in!"  said  Lapidowitz,  greatly  re- 
lieved. When  they  were  seated  inside  the  place, 


Just  as  It  Happened  155 

Lapidowitz  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart  and 
bent  a  soulful  gaze  upon  Dennis. 

"In  half  an  hour,"  said  he,  "I  haf  vun  hun- 
dert  und  fifty  dollars.  Maybe  I  get  a  check  und 
maybe  I  get  cash.  Vot's  der  difference?  But 
you  stick  by  me  und  wait  vit'  der  dog  until  der 
man  comes  home,  und  nefer,  so  long  as  you  lif, 
vill  you  be  sorry." 

''Orders,"  said  Dennis,  "is  orders.  Ye  paid 
for  a  ride  up.  Ye 're  up.  Ye  didn't  pay  for  a 
ride  back,  and  ye  didn't  pay  for  waitin'.  So 
me  orders  is  to  go  back." 

"But  if  I  make  it  all  right  vit'  you!"  cried 
Lapidowitz  eagerly.  "Vot's  der  use  of  being 
in  a  hurry  1  Listen !  Vait  till  comes  der  man, 
und  I  gif  you  two  dollars  out  uf  der  money ! ' ' 

Dennis  rose.  "Come  on,"  he  said.  "Take 
yer  dorg.  I'll  be  getting  back  to  the  stable." 

Lapidowitz  clutched  him  by  the  lapel  and  for 
a  moment  gazed  at  him,  speechless.  Inwardly 
he  was  cursing  this  stubborn  driver  through 
three  of  his  past  generations  and  through  half 
a  dozen  in  the  future.  "Vait!"  he  begged. 
"How  much  do  you  vant?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Dennis,  "I  don't  trust  ye 
for  a  cent.  But  give  me  yer  I.  0.  U.  f er  twenty- 
five  dollars,  an'  I'll  take  me  chances.  I'll  wait 


156          With  the  Best  Intention 

till  yer  man  comes.  I'll  wait  right  outside  the 
door,  an'  when  ye  come  out  I'll  collect  me  money 
or  I'll  take  it  out  o'  yer  hide.  An'  if  ye  don't 
like  it  I'll  open  the  door  o'  the  carriage  an'  kick 
yer  dorg  out.  I've  got  to  he  gettin'  hack." 

Lapidowitz  pleaded  with  him,  hegged  him  to 
moderate  his  terms,  explained  how  his  grand- 
father and  grandmother  in  Eussia  were  starving 
for  the  lack  of  exactly  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars. But  to  no  avail.  Dennis  had  taken  a 
strong  fancy  to  the  sum  of  twenty-five  dollars. 
When  Lapidowitz  continued  to  plead  with  him 
he  interrupted  him. 

"Ye  make  me  tired,"  he  said.  "Shet  up  now 
or  I '11  make  it  fifty." 

Lapidowitz,  in  a  panic,  wrote  out  an  I.  0.  U. 
for  twenty-five  dollars.  They  drove  to  Mr. 
Margulies's  house  again. 

Life,  as  we  remarked  before,  is  full  of  strange 
happenings  that  dovetail  in  with  one  another  in 
such  a  bewildering  fashion  that  it  is  almost 
hopeless  to  speculate  upon  them.  Call  them  co- 
incidences, accidents,  manifestations  of  predes- 
tination— or  anything  you  like — and  you're  no 
better  off  than  if  you  called  them  veal-cutlets. 
A  man  telephones  to  his  wife  that  he  will  be  de- 
tained at  his  office  by  important  business  until 


Just  as  It  Happened  157 

late  at  night.  And  with  the  utmost  care  and 
caution  he  organises  an  automobile  joy  ride 
with  his  partner  and  a  few  shining  lights  of  the 
drama.  But  if,  far  out  on  the  highway,  his  au- 
tomobile bumps  into  another  automobile  that 
contains  his  wife's  mother,  how  can  philosophy 
help  him? 

Izzy,  feeling  that  the  bottom  had  dropped  out 
of  the  universe,  was  walking  toward  the  elevated 
station  when  his  eye  fell  upon  an  old-fashioned 
carriage  standing  before  a  German  drinking- 
place.  And  through  the  little  window  in  the 
back  of  the  carriage  he  saw  the  face  of  a  dog 
pressed  tightly  against  the  glass.  He  drew 
nearer  and  stared  at  the  animal.  He  saw  its 
jaws  open,  and  from  within  the  carriage  came 
the  muffled  sound  of  excited  barking. 

" Beans!"  exclaimed  Izzy.  "Holy  Moses!" 
You  maintain  that  this  was  not  a  very  digni- 
fied ejaculation,  and  you  may  be  right.  Never- 
theless it  is  exactly  what  Izzy  said.  In  a  twink- 
ling he  had  opened  the  carriage  door,  seized  the 
excited  animal  in  his  arms,  carefully  shut  the 
door,  and  was  running  at  full  speed  back  to  Mar- 
gulies's  house.  "When  the  bell  rang,  Mr.  Mar- 
gulies  and  Rosie  both  rushed  to  the  door.  It 
rang  like  a  fire-alarm.  The  next  moment  Beans 


158          With  the  Best  Intention 

was  leaping  frantically  upon  his  mistress,  and 
Izzy,  perspiring  from  running  and  flushed  with 
triumph,  was  confronting  her  father. 

"  There  's  the  dog,  Mr.  Margulies,"  he  said. 
' '  Can  I  have  my  reward  1 ' ' 

Mr.  Margulies  gazed  at  him  and  then  slowly 
scratched  his  head.  "Come  inside,"  he  said. 
He  led  the  way,  and  just  as  his  portly  figure 
turned  into  the  parlour  Izzy  seized  Rosie  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  once,  twice,  three  times, 
upon  the  lips,  before  he  followed  her  father. 

"Fresh!*'  she  whispered  after  him.  But  she 
was  smiling.  Mr.  Margulies  motioned  to  Izzy 
to  sit  down.  For  nearly  a  minute  he  looked  at 
him  without  uttering  a  word.  Then  he  drew  a 
cigar  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Izzy. 

"It's  a  perfecto!"  he  said. 

The  door-bell  rang  again — a  short,  peremp- 
tory ring — and  when  Margulies  opened  the  door 
he  beheld  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  Lapido- 
witz. 

"Veil?"  he  asked.    "Vot  iss  it?  " 

"I  have  kept  my  promise,"  said  Lapidowitz, 

in  Yiddish.    "You  told  me  you  lost  a  dog  and 

would  pay  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  get  him 

back.    I  promised  to  bring  him  back  to  you. 


Just  as  It  Happened  159 

Well,  here  I  am !  The  dog  is  outside  in  the  car- 
riage. ' ' 

Mr.  Margulies  stared  at  him,  dumfounded. 
He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  the  word  that 
was  on  his  lips  was  never  uttered. 

As  if  shot  from  a  catapult,  Beans  flew  across 
the  hallway,  flashed  between  Margulies 's  legs, 
and  with  a  vicious  growl  seized  Lapidowitz  by 
the  coat.  Margulies  had  just  time  to  grasp  the 
dog's  hind  legs  when  Lapidowitz,  with  a  howl  of 
terror,  turned  and  fled  down  the  steps.  For  one 
brief  instant  he  was  arrested  in  his  flight.  Then 
there  was  a  sharp,  ripping  sound,  and  Mar- 
gulies observed  that  Beans  held  a  fragment  of 
Lapidowitz 's  Prince  Albert  between  his  teeth. 
Lapidowitz  took  the  flight  of  steps  in  one  bound, 
jumped  into  the  carriage  and,  banging  the  door 
shut,  held  it  tightly  from  within.  Dennis,  opin- 
ing that  something  was  wrong,  drove  off. 

Margulies  meanwhile  deposited  Beans  upon 
the  floor  and  gazed  at  him  studiously  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  kicked  him.  "If  you  take 
Eosie,"  he  said  to  Izzy,  "you  got  to  take  dot 
dog." 

Dennis,  as  we  said,  drove  off.  He  drove  one 
block.  Then  he  stopped,  descended  from  his 


160          With  the  Best  Intention 

seat,  and  opened  the  carriage  door.  "Come 
out!"  he  said.  Just  that  and  nothing  more. 
Lapidowitz  came  out.  Dennis  shut  the  door, 
mounted  to  his  seat,  and  drove  off. 

"Hey!"  cried  Lapidowitz.  Dennis  did  not 
answer.  In  fact,  he  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

"Vait!"  cried  Lapidowitz.  "I  ain'd  got  a 
cent !  I  ain  'd  got  car-fare ! ' ' 

Still  no  response  from  Dennis.  Then  Lapido- 
witz, clinging  to  a  lamp-post  for  support,  opened 
his  mouth  wide  and  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs,  cried  aloud, 

"Loafer!" 

This  time  Dennis  turned  his  head  and  smiled. 
He  had  a  pleasant  smile. 


IX 

The  Interrupted  Wedding 

OF  all  the  phenomena  of  life  the  most  curi- 
ous— to  me,  at  least — has  always  been  the 
tendency  of  one  thing  to  lead  to  another.  No 
sooner  do  you  extricate  yourself  from  one 
dilemma  than  you  find  yourself  in  another  so 
closely  related  to  and  consequent  upon  the  first 
that  they  might  actually  be  mother  and  child. 
The  philosophers  do  not  go  very  exhaustively 
into  this  subject,  which  is  a  great  pity,  but  if 
any  philosopher  should  ever  be  inclined  to  make 
a  special  study  of  it  he  is  welcome  to  all  the  facts 
in  this  narrative  that  may  be  of  service  to  him. 
The  late  lamented  Plansky  was  a  violinist 
and,  according  to  his  widow,  fiddled  divinely. 
This,  of  course,  was  before  his  death.  Whether 
or  not  his  musical  talent  stood  him  in  good  stead 
in  his  new  sphere  is  not  germane  to  this  narra- 
tive. The  important  point  is  that  he  left  a 
widow  and  a  violin  behind  him.  To  make  both 
ends  meet  after  her  husband's  death,  the  widow, 
Plansky,  took  in  a  lodger.  The  name  of  the 

161 


162          With  the  Best  Intention 

lodger  was  Lapidowitz,  the  gentleman  who  lived 
hy  his  wits,  despised  labour,  and  loved  the  good 
things  of  life.  The  widow  Plansky  spent  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  expressing  her  opinion 
of  her  lodger,  and  when  Lapidowitz  ran  short 
of  other  subjects  of  conversation  he  could  talk 
for  hours  about  the  widow  Plansky.  For  the 
sake  of  brevity  Lapowitz's  estimate  of  his  land- 
lady may  be  tabulated  as  follows : 

' ' Her  shortcomings  " :  A  terrible  temper;  ex- 
tremely suspicious;  stingy  and  grasping;  lied; 
cross-eyed;  gossiped;  constantly  threatened  to 
have  people  arrested;  cold-hearted;  ignorant; 
vindictive;  impudent;  sycophantic. 

Under  the  heading,  "Her  good  points,"  is  one 
lone  item:  Cooked  good  coffee  for  breakfast. 

The  widow's  estimate  of  her  lodger  was  much 
simpler.  In  her  eyes  the  schnorrer  was  abso- 
lutely and  hopelessly  good  for  nothing.  Only 
a  woman  could  have  elaborated  this  quality  into 
the  long  dissertations  the  widow  Plansky  could 
deliver  upon  the  subject.  How  near  either  of 
them  came  to  the  truth  has  also  no  bearing  upon 
this  narrative.  Suffice  it  that  there  was  no  love 
lost  between  them. 

Lapidowitz  owed  two  weeks'  room  rent,  and 
rather  than  discuss  the  matter  with  the  widow 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         163 

Plansky  lie  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  leaving 
his  room  early  in  the  morning  and  returning 
very  late  at  night.  He  was  sitting  one  after- 
noon in  Milken's  cafe,  idly  speculating  upon 
what  he  would  do  if  he  were  Sultan  of  the 
Earth — a  favourite  pastime  of  his  when  he  was 
not  busy  trying  to  borrow  money — when  Milken 
handed  him  a  letter. 

"It  hass  been  here  nearly  two  veeks,  unt  al- 
vays  I  forget  it  to  gif  it  to  you,"  explained  Mil- 
ken. 

Lapidowitz  would  have  upbraided  Milken  for 
his  neglect  if  he  had  not  owed  him  so  much 
money.  As  it  was,  he  gazed  at  the  letter  long 
and  intently,  wondering  who  his  correspondent 
could  be.  It  bore  a  Russian  postmark  and  was 
dated  nearly  five  weeks  before.  He  finally 
opened  it  and  read: 

Dear  Mr.  Lapidomitz: 

Your  father  was  a  good  friend  of  mine  and  I  owe 
him  a  great  deal  for  his  kindness  to  me  many  years 
ago.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  start  for  America,  and 
the  first  thing  I  shall  do  will  be  to  call  on  you.  Your 
father  often  said  if  he  should  die  before  me  he  wanted 
me  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  son.  I  hope  we  will  be 
good  friends. 

With  great  esteem, 

IGNATZ  BIMBEEG. 


164          With  the  Best  Intention 

Bimberg!  The  name  seemed  strangely  fa- 
miliar to  Lapidowitz,  but  for  a  long  time  he 
could  not  place  it.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he 
knew  no  one  of  that  name  in  Russia,  personally 
and  yet — oh,  yes !  Now  he  remembered  that  an 
immigrant  from  his  native  town,  in  retailing  his 
store  of  gossip,  had  mentioned  a  man  named 
Bimberg  as  the  wealthiest  Jew  in  the  place. 
And,  with  Lapidowitz 's  impulsive,  rosy  optim- 
ism he  leaped  immediately  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  no  other  than  this  wealthy  Bimberg 
who  was  coming  to  America  and  who  would 
surely  befriend  him  out  of  gratitude  to  his 
father. 

'  'Look,  Milken !"  he  cried  and  handed  the  pro- 
prietor the  letter. 

"Bimberg?"  repeated  Milken,  when  he  had 
read  it.  "Who  iss  Bimberg?" 

"What?  You  don't  know  Bimberg?  My! 
Where  did  you  come  from?  He  is  the  richest 
Jew  in  Russia.  He  and  my  father  were  great 
friends." 

Milken  was  profoundly  impressed,  but  re- 
fused, nevertheless,  to  lend  Lapidowitz  a  cent 
upon  the  strength  of  the  letter. 

"Maybe  Mr.  Bimberg  come  unt  maybe  he 
don't  come  unt  maybe  he  gifs  you  a  million  dol- 


The  Interrupted  Wedding          165 

lars  nnt  maybe  be  don't.  But  till  you  pay  der 
last  ten  dollars  vot  you  got  off'n  me,  not  vun 
cent!"  was  Milken's  ultimatum. 

Lapidowitz  returned  to  bis  room  determined 
to  establish  friendly  relations  witb  his  landlady 
and  to  wheedle  a  loan  out  of  her  upon  the 
strength  of  the  Bimberg  letter.  He  showed  her 
the  letter.  The  widow  Plansky  scrutinised  it 
carefully,  turned  it  upside  down,  and  held  it  up 
to  the  light.  Then  she  handed  it  back  to  La- 
pidowitz. 

"You  read  it,"  said  she.  "I  don't  know 
where  my  glasses  are." 

Suddenly  remembering  that  the  widow  could 
not  read,  Lapidowitz  recited  the  contents 
of  the  letter  with  such  additions,  embellish- 
ments, embroideries,  and  improvements  that 
Mrs.  Plansky 's  eyes  opened  wide  with  sur. 
prise. 

"My!  What  a  lot  he  says  in  such  a  little  let- 
ter!" was  her  comment.  "Who  is  he?" 

"He  is  the  finest  man  in  Russia!"  explained 
Lapidowitz  enthusiastically.  "He  has  so  much 
money  he  couldn't  count  it  in  a  year.  You  see, 
he  says  in  the  letter  anything  I  want  I  can  have. 
So  when  he  comes  maybe  you  can  let  him  have  a 
room." 


166          With  the  Best  Intention 

* '  He  can  have  the  parlour.  I  never  have  vis- 
itors. When  will  he  be  here  ? ' ' 

"He  don't  say  exactly,"  said  Lapidowitz, 
"but  he  is  sure  to  come  almost  any  day  now. 
Better  get  the  parlour  ready.  And,  oh,  by  the 
way,  Mrs.  Plansky,  I  owe  you  six  dollars,  don't 
I?" 

Lapidowitz 's  face  wore  its  most  ingratiating 
smile,  and  even  the  widow's  stern  countenance 
relaxed. 

"You  have  right,"  she  said. 

'  *  So  lend  me  five  dollars  till  comes  my  friend, 
and  it  will  make  just  an  even  eleven  dollars  what 
I  owe  you." 

Lapidowitz 's  smile  had  deepened  into  a  smirk 
that  was  meant  to  be  playfully  affectionate,  but 
every  muscle  of  the  widow's  face  suddenly  stiff- 
ened. 

"People  what  has  rich  friends  shouldn't  bor- 
row money  from  poor  ones,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Plansky  told  me  I  never  should  lend  money,  and 
you  get  bad  luck  if  you  break  a  promise  to  the 
dead." 

Lapidowitz  retired  to  his  room  cursing  the 
widow  and  her  departed  husband  through  every 
known  phase  of  existence  both  here  and  here- 
after. There  came  a  tap  upon  his  door  a  few 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         167 

minutes  later,  and  the  widow  entered  bearing  a 
violin-case. 

"I  am  getting  the  parlour  ready  for  your 
friend, ' '  she  explained.  ' '  You  never  keep  any- 
thing in  your  closet,  so  I  guess  I'll  keep  Mr. 
Plansky's  violin  there.  Nobody  ever  uses  it, 
but  I  want  to  keep  it  in  a  safe  place.'* 

Lapidowitz  cursed  Mr.  Plansky's  violin. 
Then  he  sat  down  and  drew  up  a  list  of  all  his 
friends  on  the  East  Side  to  whom  Mr.  Bim- 
berg's  letter  might  appeal  as  a  basis  for  a  loan. 
After  making  up  the  list  he  began  to  check  off 
those  to  whom  he  already  owed  money,  and 
when  he  had  completed  this  task  he  found  that 
he  had  checked  off  the  entire  list.  Lapidowitz 
sighed.  Still,  he  thought,  the  unexpected  often 
happens  and  he  might  really  be  doing  some  of 
his  friends  a  great  injustice.  He  decided  to 
give  them  a  chance. 

For  the  next  two  hours  Lapidowitz  wandered 
through  the  Ghetto  showing  every  one  the  letter 
he  had  received,  increasing  Mr.  Bimberg's  for- 
tune with  each  telling  and  strengthening  the 
bonds  of  friendship  that  had  existed  between 
Bimberg  and  the  schnorrer's  father.  Lubarsky 
took  a  ' '  flier ' '  and  lent  Lapidowitz  a  dollar.  Be- 
yond that  no  amount  of  coaxing  could  induce 


168          With  the  Best  Intention 

him  to  go,  and  he  made  it  clear  to  Lapidowitz 
that  if  Bimberg  ever  purchased  a  house  in  New 
York  and  did  not  transact  his  real  estate  busi- 
ness through  Lubarsky  he  would  sue  Lapidowitz 
for  all  the  money  he  had  lent  him. 

Late  that  afternoon  Lapidowitz  returned  to 
Milken's  cafe,  seated  himself  at  a  table,  heaved 
a  long  sigh,  and  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then 
he  bought  a  cigar,  lit  it,  and  began  to  blow  smoke 
rings  and,  gradually,  his  mood  of  dejection 
passed  away  and  he  began  to  feel  at  peace  with 
all  the  world.  Lapidowitz  never  was  unhappy 
long.  Having  been  accustomed  to  being  without 
money  all  his  life,  the  lack  of  it  never  depressed 
him  beyond  the  moment  when  he  needed  it.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  borrowing  a  dollar  in  an  after- 
noon was  not  such  a  bad  day's  work,  and  the 
prospect  of  a  friend  of  his  father's  coming  to 
America  to  help  him  looked  better  and  better 
the  more  he  thought  of  it.  As  is  the  case  with 
most  liars,  the  stories  that  Lapidowitz  had  told 
about  Bimberg 's  wealth  had  made  a  profound 
impression  on  himself.  In  a  little  while  he  be- 
gan to  feel  positively  happy  and  looked  around 
the  cafe  for  company. 

At  a  table  near  the  window  sat  a  young  man 
with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands,  a  very  pic- 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         169 

ture  of  dejection.  Lapidowitz  knew  him 
slightly — Morris  Litolff  was  his  name — and  feel- 
ing at  peace  with  all  the  world,  hailed  him  cheer- 
fully. 

"You  look  sad,  Mr.  Litolff,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Have  you  got  troubles?" 

The  young  man  gazed  at  him  and  shook  his 
head  with  the  air  of  a  person  to  whom  life  is  a 
despairing  void.  Lapidowitz  crossed  the  room 
and  seated  himself  opposite  the  young  man. 

' '  You  should  cheer  up, ' '  he  said.  '  *  I  got  trou- 
bles, too,  but  it's  no  use  being  sad.  Is  it 
money?" 

Litolff  smiled,  for  he  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  characteristics  of  Lapidowitz. 

"No.  It  ain't  money,"  he  said.  "If  it  was 
money,  money  would  help  it.  But  it's  some- 
thing that  nothing  in  the  world  can  help." 

"Well,  if  it  ain't  money,"  said  Lapidowitz, 
as  an  axiom,  "it  ain't  trouble." 

Lapidowitz 's  success  as  a  schnorrer  was 
largely  due  to  the  fact  that  every  one  liked  him. 
Erratic,  unreliable,  and  irresponsible  as  he  was, 
he  nevertheless  possessed  one  of  those  magnetic 
natures  that  attract  friends,  and  Litolff,  almost 
before  he  knew  it,  found  himself  pouring  into 
Lapidowitz 's  ear  his  tale  of  woe. 


170          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Monday  night  I  got  to  go  to  Chicago,"  he 
said.  "My  uncle  has  a  place  in  his  business  for 
me,  and  if  I  don't  start  Monday  night  I  lose  it. 
Last  night  Sammy  Levine  and  I  go  to  a  ball, 
and  there  we  meet  a  girl.  "We  get  introduced. 
Right  away  I  fall  head  over  heels  in  love.  Oh, 
if  you  only  could  see  her !  Such  a  shape !  Such 
a  face!  Such  high-toned  manners!  Sammy 
gets  just  as  stuck  on  her  as  me,  and  I  bet  you  he 
goes  calling  on  her  every  day  and  some  day  mar- 
ries her.  To-day  is  Friday.  In  three  days  I 
got  to  go  away.  "What  kind  of  a  chance  have  I 
got?  Tell  me !  If  I  could  only  stay  I  bet  she'd 
like  me." 

"I  bet  she  would,"  said  Lapidowitz  sym- 
pathetically. "Who  is  she?" 

*  *  Oh,  you  don't  know  her.  Her  name  is  Lillie 
Krauskopf.  She's  awfully  stylish." 

' '  Sure  I  know  her, ' '  said  Lapidowitz  eagerly. 
"Ain't  she  old  Solly  Krauskopf,  the  delicates- 
sen man's  daughter?" 

"That's  her,"  said  Litolff  sadly.  "And  on 
Monday  I  got  to  go  to  Chicago!" 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Well,  if  you  like  her  so  much,"  said  he, 
"why  you  don't  marry  her  and  take  her  with 
you?" 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         171 

An  unmarried  man  whose  soul  is  free  of  ro- 
mance takes  a  less  complicated  view  of  a  love  af- 
fair than  a  lover.  But  Litolff  shook  his  head. 

"Girls  ain't  like  that,"  he  said.  "It's  easy 
to  see  you  never  had  any  experience." 

"Listen!"  said  Lapidowitz.  "If  she  would 
be  willing  to  marry  you — right  away — to- 
night— would  you  take  her  to  Chicago  with 
you!" 

"What  a  question!    Sure  I  would!" 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him  reflectively. 

"You  know  I'm  a  good  talker,"  he  said. 
"And  I  know  Lillie  better  than  you  do.  I  could 
say  things  to  her  that  you  couldn't.  Besides 
I  was  once  a  schatchen.  How  would  you  like 
it  if  I  went  around  and  had  a  talk  with  her?  It 
wouldn't  do  any  harm  and — " 

"Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  cried  the  young  man,  his 
face  aglow  with  excitement,  "if  you  could  get 
her  to  do  it  you'll  be  best  man  at  the  wedding 
—and  I'll  give  you  a  fine  present !" 

"How  much?"  asked  Lapidowitz.  The 
young  man  hesitated. 

"Twenty  dollars,"  he  finally  said  and  seeing 
the  glitter  in  Lapidowitz 's  eyes,  "after  the  wed- 
ding and  not  before,"  he  added.  Lapidowitz 
made  liim  swear  upon  the  books  of  Moses  that 


172          With  the  Best  Intention 

lie  would  pay  the  money  as  soon  as  the  rabbi 
pronounced  them  man  and  wife. 

"Now  come  with  me,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  talk  to  her,"  said  Litolff  has- 
tily. "When  I  see  her  I  lose  all  my  courage." 

"Don't  be  a  donkey.  You  ain't  going  to  see 
her  just  yet.  You  come  with  me." 

He  led  the  young  man  to  the  house  where  his 
divinity  lived  and  then  pointed  to  a  butcher's 
shop  directly  opposite  it. 

' '  Stand  over  there, ' '  he  said.  "  If  I  open  the 
window  and  wave  my  hand  you  come  up-stairs 
as  fast  as  you  can  and  rush  into  the  room  and 
give  her  a  kiss — a  quick  one.  Don't  lose  any 
time,  and  don't  wait  to  talk  to  her.  Rush  in, 
say,  'Lillie,  my  darling!'  and  kiss  her!" 

"But—" 

"Don't  'but'!  Go  across  the  street  and 
wait." 

And  before  Litolff  could  add  another  word 
Lapidowitz  was  on  his  way  up  the  stairs.  He 
was  in  his  element.  An  undertaking  more  to 
his  taste  than  to  play  John  Alden  with  a  reward 
of  twenty  dollars  dangling  before  his  eyes  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  imagine.  Here  was 
a  field  for  all  his  powers  of  persuasion,  and  he 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         173 

knew,  from  experience,  that  women  would  al- 
ways listen  to  him. 

Miss  Lillie  Krauskopf  received  him  with 
great  cordiality. 

"I  was  awfully  lonesome,"  she  said,  "and  I 
was  just  wishing  some  one  would  drop  in  and 
entertain  me." 

Lillie  was  undeniably  pretty  and  pleasing  to 
the  eye,  but  Lapidowitz  knew  that  her  father 
was  not  in  affluent  circumstances  and  wondered 
why  Litolff  wanted  to  marry  a  girl  without  a 
dowry. 

" Lillie, "  he  said  impressively,  "you  ought 
to  get  married.*' 

"Sure,"  said  Lillie.    "Is  this  a  proposal?" 

"  No !  No ! "  cried  Lapidowitz  hastily.  ' '  But 
you  know  how  much  I  think  of  you,  and  it  would 
be  for  your  interest  to  get  married — soon.  If 
I  were  you  I'd  get  married  to-night  if  I  had  a 
chance. ' ' 

Lillie  laughed  merrily. 

"How  can  I  get  married  unless  I'm  asked?" 
she  said. 

"I  know  a  fine  young  fellow  who  is  crazy 
about  you,"  said  Lapidowitz.  "His  name  is 
Morris  Litolff." 


174          With  the  Best  Intention 

The  blush  that  mantled  in  the  girl's  cheeks 
told  him  in  a  twinkling  just  how  matters  stood, 
and  Lapidowitz  was  shrewd  enough  to  take 
full  advantage  of  the  situation. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  open  the  window?  It's 
hot  in  here."  And  before  the  girl  could 
answer  he  had  opened  the  window  and  waved 
his  arm. 

"Listen,  Lillie,"  he  said,  and  spoke  quickly, 
"Morris  is  a  splendid  fellow.  He's  got  to  go 
to  Chicago  on  Monday  night.  It's  the  best 
chance  he  will  ever  have.  He  will  get  rich  out 
there.  He  is  terribly  in  love  with  you,  only 
he  is  bashful  and  he  is  afraid  to  ask  you  to 
marry  him  right  away — to-night,  maybe.  He 
didn't  tell  me  to  ask  you,  but  I  didn't  like  to 
see  him  so  unhappy.  He  can't  eat  and  he  can't 
sleep  because  he 's  so  crazy  about  you. ' ' 

He  then  went  on  to  describe  Litolff's  char- 
acter, his  honesty,  his  courage,  the  warmth  of 
his  feelings.  He  painted  in  glowing  terms  the 
happiness  that  would  be  Lillie 's  married  to  so 
fine  a  young  man,  how  all  the  girls  would  envy 
her,  how  beautiful  her  children  were  sure  to 
be,  and  how  stylishly  she  could  dress  on  the 
fortune  Litolff  was  sure  to  make.  As  the 
words  came  pouring  in  a  torrent  from  his  lips, 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         175 

Lillie,  with  glistening  eyes  and  mouth  agape, 
stood  staring  at  htm,  dumfounded.  And  just 
as  he  reached  the  climax  of  his  peroration, 
hasty  steps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  in  rushed  Litolff,  pale 
with  excitement. 

"Lillie,  my  darling!"  he  cried  and  throwing 
his  arms  about  her  kissed  her  again  and  again. 
For  a  moment  the  girl  stood  stunned  and 
seemed  incapable  of  speech  or  action.  Then 
her  cheeks  turned  rosy  red,  and  Lapidowitz, 
the  sly  rascal,  saw  her  arms  slowly  fold  around 
the  young  man's  neck. 

4 'Hooray!"  he  cried,  waving  his  hat.  "Now 
I  run  out  and  get  the  rabbi ! ' ' 

Before  a  word  could  be  uttered  he  was  gone. 
Litolff  and  Lillie  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
they  laughed  and  began  kissing  anew.  Pres- 
ently they  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  like  sane 
beings.  Litolff,  emboldened  now  that  he  knew 
the  girl  was  fond  of  him,  pleaded  and  explained 
and  argued — and  occasionally  kissed — to  such 
good  effect  that  Lillie  finally  yielded  to  his  en- 
treaty to  be  married  immediately.  She  even 
confessed  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him 
at  first  sight  and  had  been  thinking  of  him  all 
that  day. 


176          With  the  Best  Intention 

"What  will  everybody  say?"  was  the 
thought  that  worried  her  most. 

"As  long  as  we  got  to  live  in  Chicago,  what 
difference  does  it  make?"  responded  Litolff. 
"As  long  as  your  mother  doesn't  object." 

' '  Oh,  mamma  won 't  mind, ' '  said  Lillie  calmly. 
"She  got  married  when  she  was  sixteen.  I'm 
nineteen  now,  and  she  thinks  I  ought  to  got 
married  long  ago." 

Then  Lapidowitz  returned  with  a  long  face. 

"I  seen  the  rabbi,  but  he  says  you  got  to 
have  a  license  before  you  can  get  married,  and 
it's  too  late  to  get  a  license  to-night." 

Lillie  clapped  her  hands. 

"I'm  glad!"  she  said.  "We  can  get  mar- 
ried to-morrow  night,  and  I'll  have  a  chance 
to  get  some  clothes.  And  we  can  invite  some 
of  our  friends." 

Litolff  was  forced  to  assent. 

"Anyway,"  he  said,  "you'll  come  out  to  din- 
ner with  me  to-night,  and  we'll  talk  everything 
over.  Mr.  Lapidowitz  will  come  too.  I  owe 
him  a  lot." 

Lapidowitz  held  up  his  two  hands  behind 
Lillie 's  back,  shut  them  and  opened  them  again 
to  indicate  the  number  twenty,  but  Litolff 
shook  his  head.  They  all  went  to  the  nearest 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         177 

restaurant,  where  Litolff  ordered  a  more  fes- 
tive meal  than  Lapidowitz  had  eaten  in  many 
a  day.  During  the  dinner  it  was  arranged 
that  Lapidowitz  should  accompany  them  to  the 
marriage-license  bureau  in  the  morning  and> 
after  the  license  had  been  secured,  he  was  to 
hire  a  small  hall  on  Clinton  Street.  Now  that 
he  was  compelled  to  wait  a  day  Litolff  was  de- 
termined that  the  wedding  should  be  as  elab- 
orate an  affair  as  he  could  arrange. 

' '  I  know  a  fellow  who  will  get  me  some  musi- 
cians, cheap,"  he  said,  "and  I  know  a  florist 
who  will  fix  up  the  flowers.  I  got  about  thirty 
people  who  I  want  to  invite,  and  I  guess  you 
got  a  lot  of  friends,  too,  Lil.  So  I'll  have  some 
swell  refreshments.  All  you  got  to  do,  Mr. 
Lapidowitz,  is  to  arrange  for  the  hall  and  tell 
the  rabbi  what  time  to  be  there.  After  that  you 
got  nothing  to  do  but  go  home  and  put  on  your 
dress  suit  and  wait  for  the  wedding.  You  got 
to  be  my  best  man  to  bring  us  luck." 

"I  ain't  got  a  dress  suit,"  said  Lapidowitz. 

"Oh,  never  mind.  We  don't  have  to  have  a 
best  man.  We  can  get  married  just  as  tight 
without  it,  hey,  Lil!" 

"Oh,  I  can  easy  get  a  dress  suit,"  said  La- 
pidowitz hastily.  The  prospect  of  playing  an 


178          With  the  Best  Intention 

important  part  at  a  function  where  there  was 
to  be  music  and  good  things  to  eat  was  too  al- 
luring to  be  so  easily  abandoned. 

At  the  license  bureau  the  following  morning 
Lapidowitz  answered  so  many  questions  on  be- 
half of  both  the  bride  and  the  groom  and  dom- 
inated the  proceedings  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  clerk  asked  him  sarcastically: 

''Say,  who's  getting  married,  you  or  the 
young  chap?" 

Lapidowitz  insisted  on  taking  possession  of 
the  license. 

"If  I  don't  show  it  to  the  rabbi,  he  won't 
come,"  he  explained. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  great  importance 
that  Lapidowitz  accomplished  his  task  of  hir- 
ing the  hall  and  engaging  the  rabbi,  but  this 
satisfactory  sensation  immediately  vanished 
when  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
problem  of  equipping  himself  with  a  dress  suit. 
He  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  go  the 
rounds  of  his  friends,  and  attempt  to  borrow 
money,  for  he  had  called  upon  them  all  the  day 
before.  He  had  found,  from  experience,  that 
five  days  was  the  minimum  of  time  that  must 
elapse  between  visits  for  any  chance  of  success. 
He  called  upon  Harris  on  Eivington  Street, 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         179 

who  made  a  specialty  of  renting  wedding  gar- 
ments for  both  men  and  women.  Harris 
peered  at  him  over  his  spectacles. 

"I'm  to  be  best  man  at  Litolff's  wedding," 
said  Lapidowitz  in  the  most  nonchalant  tone 
he  could  assume.  "Can  I  hire  a  dress  suit?" 

"Best  man?"  repeated  Harris,  with  a  grin. 
1 '  Sure  you  can  hire  a  suit.  The  last  one  I  got 
left.  Four  dollars  a  day  and  ten  dollars  de- 
posit." 

"Ten  dollars  deposit?    What  for?" 

"Because  the  suit  is  worth  twenty  dollars, 
and  it  don't  go  out  of  the  shop  unless  I  get  a 
deposit.  I  couldn't  sleep  all  night  if  I  didn't 
have  a  deposit." 

"Look  here,  Harris,"  said  Lapidowitz,  an 
a  more  genial  tone,  "I'm  a  little  short,  just 
now.  But  you  know  me.  And  look  at  this  let- 
ter that  I  just  got.  Mr.  Bimberg  will  hire  all 
his  dress  suits  here  if  I  recommend  you.  And 
he's  got  enough  money  to  hire  a  dress  suit 
every  day  of  his  life." 

Harris  perused  the  letter,  which  by  this  time 
was  somewhat  frayed  and  finger-marked. 

"You're  a  lucky  dog,  Lapidowitz,"  he  said, 
handing  back  the  letter. 

"And  you'll  let  me  have  a  dress  suit  without 


180          With  the  Best  Intention 

a  deposit,  won't  you?"  said  Lapidowitz  ea- 
gerly. "I'll  tell  Mr.  Bimberg  about  it  so  soon 
as  lie  comes.  And  I'll  bring  the  suit  back  in 
the  morning." 

"Who?  Me?  Without  a  deposit?  Never!" 
Lapidowitz  strode  from  the  store,  slamming 
the  door  behind  him.  He  went  to  his  room  and 
for  an  hour  tried  to  devise  some  method  of  rais- 
ing ten  dollars.  Milken,  he  knew,  would  refuse 
to  lend  it.  Litolff  would  see  no  reason  for  his 
having  a  dress  suit  at  all.  The  widow  Plank- 
sky — a  sudden  thought  shot  into  his  mind,  and 
Lapidowitz  sat  bolt  upright.  The  violin! 
Why  not  pawn  it  for  ten  dollars?  With  the 
money  he  was  to  get  from  Litolff  after  the  wed- 
ding he  could  redeem  it  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  and  replace  it  without  any  one  being 
the  wiser.  It  seemed  a  brilliant  thought,  but 
presently  doubts  arose  in  his  mind.  Could 
any  one  possibly  say  he  was  stealing  the  violin  ? 
Pshaw!  How  could  a  man  steal  a  thing  and 
bring  it  back?  That  was  only  borrowing. 
That 's  all.  Only  borrowing ! 

He  began  to  reason  the  matter  out.  When 
a  man  begins  to  reason  out  a  thing  that  he  has 
made  up  his  mind  to  do,  it  is  wonderful  how 
fertile  his  brain  suddenly  becomes  and  how 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         181 

promptly  his  arguments  overwhelm  his  con- 
science. Lapidowitz  reasoned  thus: 

"I  rent  this  room,  don't  I?  And  I  rent 
everything  in  it.  And  as  long  as  I  pay  my 
rent  I  have  the  use  of  everything  in  the  room, 
don't  I?  As  long  as  I  don't  keep  anything  I 
can  use  it,  can't  I?  If  I  wanted  to  take  the 
clock  off  the  mantel  and  carry  it  around  with 
me,  I  could,  couldn't  I?  That  is,  as  long  as  I 
was  sure  to  bring  it  back.  So  what's  the  differ- 
ence if  the  fiddle  is  in  the  closet  or  in  the  pawn- 
shop? I'm  responsible  for  it,  and  when  I  give 
up  this  room  the  fiddle  will  be  here,  won't  it? 
Anyway,  it's  safer  in  the  pawn-shop." 

His  reasoning  satisfied  him  completely,  yet 
nevertheless,  when  he  descended  the  stairs  a 
few  minutes  later  with  the  violin  hidden  under 
his  overcoat  it  was  with  the  stealthy  tread  and 
the  furtive  glances  around  him  of  a  man  who 
would  have  felt  embarrassed  had  he  been  ob- 
served. A  friendly  pawn-broker  advanced 
him  ten  dollars  on  the  instrument,  and  with  joy 
in  his  heart  Lapidowitz  returned  to  Harris' 
store. 

"Here  is  your  deposit,"  he  said  loftily. 
"See  that  you  give  me  a  good  suit." 

Harris  selected  a  suit  that  he  thought  likely 


182          With  the  Best  Intention 

to  fit  the  schnorrer  and  wrapped  it  tip  for  him. 

"It's  four  dollars  a  day,"  he  said.  "How 
many  days  do  you  want  it?" 

"How  many  days  does  anybody  want  a  dress 
suit?  One  day,  of  course." 

"There's  no  telling,"  responded  Harris. 

Lapidowitz  spent  all  of  the  afternoon  and 
early  evening  in  Milken's  cafe.  As  it  grew 
dark  he  became  somewhat  depressed,  and  the 
thought  of  the  widow's  violin  preyed  on  his 
mind.  What  would  she  do  if  she  detected  her 
loss?  He  had  known  her  to  call  a  policeman 
on  the  slightest  provocation  and,  in  fact,  had 
often  told  his  friends  about  her  mania  for  hav- 
ing every  one  arrested. 

"It's  too  bad  about  young  Lezinsky,"  Milken 
happened  to  remark  in  Yiddish. 

"Lezinsky?    What  did  he  do?" 

"Haven't  you  heard?  He  borrowed  twenty- 
five  dollars  from  his  boss's  cashdrawer  without 
telling  him  about  it  and  intended  to  put  it  back 
in  the  morning.  He  said  he  often  did  it.  But 
his  boss  caught  him  this  time,  and  he  had  to  go 
to  Jersey  while  his  father  is  trying  to  settle 
it." 

A  cold  shudder  thrilled  up  and  down  Lapid- 
owitz's  spine. 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         183 

"Why  did  he  have  to  go  to  Jersey?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  he's  safe  over  there  for  a  few  days. 
The  New  York  police  can't  arrest  you  in  Jersey. 
I  guess  the  boss  will  take  the  money  from  the 
young  fellow's  father  when  he  cools  down. 
The  boy  ain't  bad." 

"Are  you  sure  they  can't  arrest  you  in  Jer- 
sey?" asked  Lapidowitz  eagerly. 

"Sure  I  am.    It's  another  state." 

Here,  at  any  rate,  was  a  grain  of  comfort, 
for,  if  anything  unpleasant  happened,  he  could 
go  to  Jersey  and  wait  until  Mr.  Bimberg  ar- 
rived. Behind  a  partition  in  the  rear  of  the 
cafe  he  changed  his  clothes,  and  when  he  reap- 
peared Milken  gazed  at  him  in  admiration. 

"You  look  good!"  he  said. 

A  few  minutes  later  Lapidowitz  was  in  the 
hall  helping  Litolff  and  Lillie  receive  their 
guests.  A  goodly  number  of  people  had  al- 
ready arrived. 

"Did  you  arrange  with  the  rabbi?"  asked 
Litolff. 

"Sure  I  did,"  said  Lapidowitz.  "Here  he 
comes  by  the  door,  now." 

"And  the  license?" 

"I  got  it  in  my  pocket." 


184          With  the  Best  Intention 

While  the  young  couple  were  welcoming  the 
rabbi,  Lapidowitz  swooped  down  upon  the  re- 
freshment table.  Holding  a  sandwich  between 
his  teeth,  as  if  he  feared  that  it  might  escape 
him,  he  tucked  half  a  dozen  more  into  the 
pockets  of  his  swallow-tailed  coat.  The  hall 
was  quite  small  and,  by  this  time,  was  begin- 
ning to  fill.  The  air  resounded  with  the  chatter 
of  many  voices  and  the  tuning  of  the  orchestra. 
And,  just  then,  a  shrill  voice  in  the  doorway 
cried, 

''Is  Mr.  Lapidowitz  here?" 

Lapidowitz  stood  on  tiptoe  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  widow  Plansky.  He  turned  pale 
and  let  a  sandwich  fall  from  his  hand.  Close 
by  him  was  an  open  window.  And,  oh,  joy!  a 
fire-escape  ran  all  the  way  to  the  yard  in  the 
rear  of  the  building.  A  quick  glance  around  the 
room  convinced  him  that  he  was  unobserved. 
A  moment  later  he  was  climbing  down  the  iron 
ladder  of  the  fire-escape. 

* '  I  want  Mr.  Lapidowitz ! ' '  repeated  the  shrill 
voice.  Litolff  hastened  to  approach  the 
speaker. 

''What  is  it  you  want?'*  he  said. 

"I  don't  want  you,  anyway,"  was  the  snappy 


The  Interrupted  Wedding         185 

response.  "Mr.  Milken  told  me  Mr.  Lapido- 
witz  is  here,  and  I  want  to  see  him. ' ' 

"I'll  find  him  for  you,"  said  Litolff. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  entire  room  resounded 
with  repetitions  of  Lapidowitz's  name,  but 
there  came  no  response  from  Lapidowitz. 

"I  guess  he  went  out  for  a  minute,"  said 
Litolff.  And  then  the  perspiration  suddenly 
stood  upon  his  forehead. 

"He's  got  the  wedding  license!" 


A  Night  of  Horrors 

FOB  a  moment  every  voice  in  the  room  was 
hushed.  The  musicians  ceased  tuning 
their  instruments  and  began  to  light  cigarettes. 
They  felt  that  the  time  to  play  the  wedding 
march  had  been  temporarily  postponed.  Li- 
tolff  walked  hurriedly  to  where  the  rabbi  sat 
munching  a  sandwich. 

"You  can  marry  us  without  a  license,  can't 
you,  Babbi?"  he  asked  imploringly. 

"And  go  to  prison?"  retorted  the  rabbi. 

"But  Lapidowitz  showed  you  the  license, 
didn't  he?  You  know  we  got  one,  don't  you?" 

' '  Did  he  ?  Don 't  I  ?  Lapidowitz  didn  't  show 
me  anything.  He  says  you  had  a  license,  but  I 
wouldn't  believe  Lapidowitz,  no  matter  what 
he  said." 

Lillie  laid  her  hand  upon  the  rabbi's  shoulder 
and  added  her  plea  to  Litolff's.  "Please, 
Babbi,  for  my  sake!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  made  a  stone  wall  relent. 

186 


A  Night  of  Horrors  187 

But  the  rabbi  was  obdurate.  "I  couldn't  do 
it,"  he  said.  "The  law  is  strict,  and  if  I  don't 
see  the  license  maybe  I  go  to  jail.  I'm  just  as 
sorry  as  anybody  else,  because  business  is  busi- 
ness. Anyway,  maybe  Lapidowitz  will  soon 
come  back.  Let  us  wait  a  while." 

And  then  began  a  long  wait.  .Litolff  and 
Lillie  sat  hand  in  hand  apart  from  the  guests, 
Lillie  worried  and  distressed,  Litolff  raging  in 
his  soul.  A  dozen  methods  of  punishing  Lap- 
idowitz occurred  to  him,  but  they  all  were  either 
too  mild  or  too  impracticable.  A  sound  thrash- 
ing, he  thought,  would  probably  be  most  effec- 
tive. Meanwhile  the  assemblage  was  thinning 
out. 

Litolff  drew  his  father  aside.  "Look  here, 
father,"  he  said,  "you  take  mamma  and  Lillie 's 
folks  down  the  street  to  Milken's  cafe  and  get 
something  good  to  eat.  I  don't  know  when  that 
fellow  Lapidowitz  will  come  back,  and  Lillie 's 
mother  looks  as  if  she's  going  to  cry.  I'll  send 
for  you  when  Lapidowitz  comes." 

The  rabbi  approached  Litolff.  "I  guess  the 
refreshments  are  all  gone,"  he  said. 

Litolff  glanced  at  the  empty  table.  "I  guess 
so,"  he  said. 

The  rabbi  sighed.    "I  thought  maybe  you 


188          With  the  Best  Intention 

had  some  put  away,"  he  remarked.  Then  he 
settled  himself  comfortably  in  a  chair  and  soon 
began  to  doze. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Litolff,  starting  as  if 
from  a  trance,  observed  that  all  the  guests  had 
gone.  Most  of  them  had  approached  him  and 
had  murmured  some  farewell  or  some  expres- 
sion of  sympathy,  but  no  impression  had  been 
recorded  upon  his  mind.  Only  one  woman  be- 
sides Lillie  had  remained  in  the  room,  and  Li- 
tolff wondered  who  she  was. 

4 'Please  don't  wait  on  our  account,"  he  said 
politely.  ''The  wedding  may  not  take  place 
for  some  time." 

"I  ain't  waiting  on  your  account,"  said  the 
woman.  "I  got  to  see  Mr.  Lapidowitz." 

"Oh!  You're  the  lady  who  came  to  see 
Lapidowitz ! ' ' 

"I  am.  And  what  is  more,  I  don't  go  home 
till  I  see  him. ' ' 

Litolff  had  no  objection  to  her  remaining. 
In  fact,  had  she  gone  and  the  rabbi  continued 
to  sleep,  he  would  have  felt  too  discouraged  to 
wait  longer.  He  was  glad  that  she  stayed. 

"Are  you  sure  he'll  come  back  I"  asked  Lillie. 

Litolff's  brow  wrinkled.  "Nobody  can  be 
sure  what  such  a  loafer  would  do,"  he  replied. 


A  Night  of  Horrors  189 

1  'But  I  promised  him  twenty  dollars  after  the 
wedding,  and  if  Lapidowitz  is  alive  he'll  come 
back  so  soon  as  he  can.  What  that  man 
wouldn't  do  for  twenty  dollars  isn't  worth  talk- 
ing about." 

Just  then  the  rabbi  awoke  and  looked  at  his 
watch.  "It's  getting  late,"  he  said,  "and  I 
guess  I  go  home." 

"Oh,  please,  Kabbi,"  implored  Litolff, 
*  *  don 't  go  yet.  "We  got  to  get  married  tonight. ' ' 

"I'm  so  hungry!"  said  the  rabbi.  Litolff 
ran  downstairs  and  brought  up  some  sand- 
wiches which  he  placed  upon  a  table.  The  rabbi 
took  two  and  the  Widow  Plansky  took  two, 
holding  one  in  one  hand  while  they  ate  the 
other. 

"Can't  we  go  down-town  and  get  another 
license?"  suggested  Lillie. 

Litolff  shook  his  head.  "It's  too  late,"  he 
said.  "And  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  on  Mon- 
day I  got  to  go  to  Chicago.  No,  dear,  there  *s 
nothing  to  do  but  wait.  But,  oh,  when  I  lay 
my  eyes  on  Lapidowitz!" 

When  the  sandwiches  were  gone  the  rabbi 
fell  asleep  again  and  snored  for  nearly  fifteen 
minutes.  Then  he  awoke  with  a  start  and 
looked  at  his  watch. 


190          With  the  Best  Intention 

"What's  the  use  of  waiting?"  he  asked.  "I 
can  marry  you  to-morrow  just  as  well." 

"If  he  don't  come  back  to-night  he  may  not 
come  hack  to-morrow,"  said  Litolff.  "Don't 
he  in  a  hurry,  Rabbi." 

"But  I'm  so  thirsty!"  said  the  rabbi.  Li- 
tolif  ran  downstairs  and  brought  up  some  bot- 
tled beer.  "When  the  rabbi  had  quenched  his 
thirst  he  fell  asleep  again,  and  Mrs.  Plansky, 
observing  that  no  one  was  paying  the  slightest 
attention  to  her,  helped  herself  to  what  re- 
mained of  the  beer.  Presently  Lillie's  head 
sank  upon  her  lover's  shoulder,  and  she  fell 
asleep.  Litolff  and  the  widow  alone  were 
awake,  Litolff  silently  cursing  every  bone  in 
Lapidowitz's  body  and  the  widow  sitting  with 
folded  arms,  engrossed  in  her  own  thoughts. 

When  Lapidowitz  reached  the  foot  of  the  fire- 
escape  he  found  himself  in  a  yard  at  the  rear 
of  the  building.  He  opened  a  door  leading  into 
the  hallway,  heard  the  tuning  of  the  instru- 
ments and  the  hum  of  voices  in  the  hall  over- 
head, and  seeing  no  one,  made  his  way  quickly 
to  the  street.  He  glanced  swiftly  to  right  and 
left.  There  was  no  policeman  in  sight.  With 
a  sigh  of  relief  Lapidowitz  turned  westward 


A  Night  of  Horrors  191 

and  walked  as  quickly  as  he  could  without  at- 
tracting attention.  Had  he  dared  he  would 
have  run.  It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  at 
Jewish  weddings  it  is  the  custom  for  men  to 
wear  their  hats.  Still,  he  had  left  his  overcoat 
behind,  and  the  night  was  chilly.  People  stared 
at  the  tall,  bearded  figure  in  a  dress  suit  and 
silk  hat  walking  so  swiftly,  but  Lapidowitz  paid 
no  heed  to  people.  Policemen  were  all  that  in- 
terested him. 

At  the  Bowery  he  saw  one.  The  bluecoat 
stood  on  the  corner  swinging  his  stick,  and 
Lapidowitz,  with  a  guilty  conscience,  was  sure 
that  he  was  being  closely  scrutinised.  It  re- 
quired considerable  effort  of  the  will  to  look 
the  policeman  boldly  in  the  face,  but  when 
Lapidowitz  had  nerved  himself  to  the  ordeal 
he  found  that  the  policeman  was  grinning  at 
him.  Lapidowitz 's  heart  began  to  beat  again, 
and  he  grinned  amiably  in  return. 

He  reached  the  ferry  at  the  foot  of  Des- 
brosses  Street  just  in  time  to  see  the  boat  pull 
out  of  the  slip. 

"How  soon  goes  the  next  one?"  he  asked  a 
man  who  stood  at  the  ferry-gate. 

"I  don't  know.  Ask  the  policeman  over 
there!"  was  the  reply.  Lapidowitz  felt  his 


192          With  the  Best  Intention 

heart  sinking.  What  was  the  policeman  doing 
in  this  particular  spot  T  And  why  was  he  star- 
ing at  Lapidowitz  so  suspiciously?  Did  he 
know?  Was  he  preparing  to  pounce  upon  him 
for  stealing  a  violin?  Lapidowitz  shuddered 
and  started  to  enter  the  ferry-house,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  some  magnetic  attraction  that 
drew  him  toward  the  policeman.  He  began  to 
feel  panicky.  And  then,  in  the  spirit  of  des- 
peration that  often  overcomes  the  most  hard- 
ened criminal,  he  determined  to  put  all  to  the 
test.  He  approached  the  policeman  with  a 
jaunty  air  and  a  smirk  upon  his  face,  but  with 
trepidation  in  his  soul. 

"I — I  want  to  go  to  Jersey,"  he  stammered. 

The  policeman  transferred  a  substance  that 
he  was  masticating  from  one  cheek  to  the  other. 
"Who's  keepin'  ye  back?"  he  inquired  jovially. 

Lapidowitz 's  heart  leaped  with  joy.  "No- 
body!" he  exclaimed.  "Why  should  they? 
But  the  boat  is  gone.  Comes  soon  another?" 

"Oh,  sure!    In  ten  minutes." 

And  now  Lapidowitz  was  perfectly  contented. 
When  the  boat  arrived  he  seated  himself  in 
the  "Gents'  Cabin"  and  began  to  eat  the  sand- 
wiches that  he  carried  in  his  pocket.  Subcon- 
sciously his  mind  had  been  upon  those  sand- 


A  Night  of  Horrors  193 

wiches  from  the  moment  he  left  the  hall. 
When  the  boat  reached  the  New  Jersey  shore 
Lapidowitz  was  the  first  passenger  to  leave  it. 
He  was  in  splendid  spirits.  He  had  eluded  the 
Widow  Plansky  and  the  police,  and  now  all  he 
had  to  do  was  to  remain  in  New  Jersey  until  the 
next  day,  when  he  could  claim  his  twenty  dol- 
lars, redeem  the  violin  and,  in  some  surrepti- 
tious manner,  return  it  to  the  closet  in  his  room. 

It  was  rather  chilly  to  walk  the  streets  in  a 
dress  suit,  and  Lapidowitz  asked  the  way  to  the 
nearest  hotel.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to 
take  stock  of  his  financial  resources,  and  he 
found  that  he  had  only  fifty  cents.  This  dis- 
covery acted  as  a  damper  upon  his  cheerful- 
ness. It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  when  he  en- 
tered the  Star  Hotel  close  by  the  ferry,  and 
seating  himself  in  a  chair  opposite  the  clerk's 
desk,  began  to  think.  They  probably  would  not 
let  him  sit  there  all  night,  he  feared,  and  there 
was  something  about  the  clerk's  aspect  that  did 
not  invite  an  appeal  to  charity.  Besides  which 
he  did  not  like  the  way  the  clerk  occasionally 
looked  at  him. 

"Just  like  I  was  a  loafer!"  he  thought. 

By  this  time  Litolff  and  Lillie  were  probably 
married  and  had  forgotten  all  about  him.  The 


194          With  the  Best  Intention 

recollection  of  the  festive  scene  in  the  hall,  in 
which  he  might  have  played  a  conspicuous  part, 
brought  a  sigh  to  his  lips.  But  the  thought  of 
the  Widow  Plansky  banished  all  regrets.  By 
this  time,  too,  Mrs.  Plansky  had  probably  set 
a  hundred  policemen  on  his  track.  Lapidowitz 
shuddered. 

"How  much  costs  the  cheapest  room?"  he 
suddenly  asked. 

"One  dollar,'*  replied  the  clerk. 

"I  got  only  a  half,"  said  Lapidowitz. 

"We  haven't  got  any  half-rooms,"  said  the 
clerk  sarcastically. 

It  occurred  to  Lapidowitz  to  pawn  something. 
He  took  a  mental  inventory  of  his  attire  and 
wondered  what  article  he  could  best  dispense 
with.  Of  course  he  could  easily  get  fifty  cents 
for  his  hat,  but  he  needed  the  hat.  The  shoes 
and  trousers  were  equally  out  of  the  question. 
The  vest — ah!  there  was  an  idea!  He  could 
pin  the  front  of  his  coat  together  so  as  to  con- 
ceal the  absence  of  the  vest.  He  left  the  hotel 
and  roamed  the  streets  until  he  came  to  a  sign 
of  the  three  golden  balls.  Then  he  rapped 
loudly  upon  the  door.  Curiously  enough,  it 
was  at  that  moment  that  he  remembered  he  was 
paying  Harris  four  dollars  a  day  for  the  dress 


A  Night  of  Horrors  195 

suit  and  that  he  probably  would  have  to  pay 
for  two  days.  Lapidowitz  groaned.  A  win- 
dow opened  overhead. 

"Vot  iss?"  asked  a  forbidding  voice. 

"My  name  is  Lapidowitz.  I  need  a  dollar. 
Can  you  come  down-stairs  ? ' ' 

"Lapidowitz?  From  New  York?"  asked  the 
pawnbroker  quickly. 

"That's  me?    You  know  me?" 

"You  got  a  cheek!  Go  away  or  I  call  a  po- 
liceman ! ' '  And  the  window  shut  with  a  bang. 

"Only  half  a  dollar  on  a  vest  from  a  swal- 
low-tailer  suit!"  cried  Lapidowitz.  But  there 
came  no  answer.  Lapidowitz  sought  other 
pawnshops,  but  the  owners  either  did  not  live 
over  their  stores  or  refused  to  respond  to  his 
knocking.  For  two  hours  he  wandered  about  in 
the  vain  attempt  to  pawn  his  vest.  Then  he 
returned  to  the  hotel  and  resumed  his  chair. 
It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  examine  all  the 
pockets  of  his  dress  suit — perhaps  the  last  man 
who  had  hired  it  had  left  some  money  behind. 
In  the  course  of  his  search  his  hand  came  in 
contact  with  a  folded  paper  and  for  an  instant 
his  heart  beat  faster.  He  drew  the  paper  forth. 
It  was  Liiolff's  marriage  license. 

The  expression  of  hopeless  bewilderment  that 


196          With  the  Best  Intention 

overspread  Lapidowitz 's  face  attracted  the 
clerk's  attention. 

"What's  up  now?"  he  asked.  Lapidowitz 
did  not  reply.  His  mind  was  struggling  to 
grasp  the  situation.  The  rabbi  could  not  have 
married  them.  What  were  they  doing?  And. 
his  twenty  dollars ! 

"What  costs  it  to  telephone  to  New  York?" 
he  asked  excitedly. 

"Fifteen  cents,"  said  the  clerk. 

Lapidowitz  found  the  telephone  number  of 
the  hall  and  called  it  up.  "Please  get  Mr.  Li- 
tolff  on  the  telephone,"  he  asked.  "He's  up- 
stairs at  a  wedding.  Yes.  I'll  wait.  Ten 
minutes?  Can't  you  go  quicker?  It's  terri- 
bly important!" 

The  clerk  looked  at  his  watch.  "It's  fifteen 
cents  for  five  minutes'  conversation." 

Lapidowitz,  with  the  receiver  of  the  telephone 
pressed  against  his  ear,  gazed  at  the  clerk  with 
that  expression  with  which  the  victims  in  the 
Boman  arena  probably  looked  at  the  lions.  But 
the  clerk  only  yawned.  Somewhere  in  the  rear 
of  the  room  there  was  a  clock,  and  Lapidowitz 
heard  it  ticking.  It  ticked  louder  than  any 
clock  in  the  world  had  ever  ticked  before. 

"Can't  you  hurry?"  cried  Lapidowitz  into 


A  Night  of  Horrors  197 

the  telephone,  but  he  might  as  well  have  talked 
against  a  stone  wall. 

"Through?"  presently  asked  the  operator. 

"No,  no!  Gott  in  Himmel,  no!"  cried  Lap- 
idowitz. 

"Five  minutes  are  up,"  said  the  clerk,  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  Lapidowitz  wondered  what 
the  possibilities  were  of  the  clerk  dropping 
dead.  "He  will  come  soon,"  he  said  in  as 
pleasant  a  voice  as  he  could  command,  but  the 
clerk  only  drew  a  penknife  from  his  pocket  and 
began  to  sharpen  a  pencil. 

"Through?"  asked  "Central"  again. 

"No!"  shouted  Lapidowitz.  "So  soon  as  I 
get  through  I  tell  you.  Keep  away!" 

"That's  ten  minutes,"  said  the  clerk,  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  Ten  minutes!  Forty-five 
cents  gone,  and  only  five  cents  to  keep  him  all 
the  night!  And  just  then,  when  Lapidowitz 
thought  he  would  split  from  the  uproarious 
ticking  of  the  clock,  the  voice  of  Litolff  an- 
swered. 

"It  that  you,  Lapidowitz?" 

"Yes!  It's  me!  Say— oh,  don't  talk  like 
that!  Stop  it!  I  won't  listen!  Shut  up!" 

He  clapped  his  hand  over  the  mouthpiece, 
and  turned  to  the  clerk. 


198          With  the  Best  Intention 

"How  he  can  swear!  Ts!  Ts!  It  ain't 
right ! "  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 

"Now  listen,  Litolff,"  he  went  on,  when  the 
voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  telephone  paused. 
"I  find  the  license  in  my  pocket.  I'm  in  New 
Jersey  by  the  Star  Hotel.  It's  right  by  the 
Desbrosses  Street  ferry.  You  and  Lillie  and 
the  rabbi  come  over  here,  and  you  can  get  mar- 
ried right  here  just  as  well.  No!  I  can't! 
No!  Never  mind  why,  but  I  can't  come  over 
to  New  York.  I  got  a  reason.  Some  day  I 
tell  you.  Hurry  up  now,  because  I  only  got 
five  cents  left  and  I  wait  right  here  for  you. 
Good-bye!" 

"There!"  he  exclaimed  triumphantly,  as  he 
hung  up  the  receiver.  "Now  everything  is  all 
right." 

"Why  can't  you  go  to  New  York!"  asked  the 
clerk  suspiciously. 

Lapidowitz  reddened.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  tell  the  clerk  to  mind  his  own  business,  but 
he  feared  that  such  a  reply  might  arouse  deeper 
suspicions  in  the  clerk's  mind. 

"Oh,  it's  only  a  mistake  about  something," 
he  responded  airily.  "There  is  a  person  who 
I  don 't  want  to  see  in  New  York. ' ' 

' '  Most  people  who  come  over  here  like  that, ' ' 


A  Night  of  Horrors  199 

remarked  the  clerk  significantly,  "are  running 
away  from  the  police." 

"Not  me!"  exclaimed  Lapidowitz  quickly. 
"I  ain't  afraid  of  policemen.  Even  if  I  should 
be  they  could  arrest  me  here. ' ' 

This  last  touch,  he  thought,  was  sure  to  al- 
lay the  clerk's  suspicions.  But  the  clerk's  next 
words  filled  him  with  dismay. 

"Sure  they  could,"  he  said.  "Some  people 
think  they're  safe  from  the  police  over  here. 
All  that  anybody's  got  to  do  is  to  point  you  out 
as  a  suspicious  character  and  any  policeman 
here  will  hold  you  until  they  hear  from  the  po- 
lice across  the  river.  The  only  thing  is  if  you 
don't  go  back  willingly  there's  a  lot  of  red  tape 
about  extradition  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. ' ' 

"They  hold  you?"  asked  Lapidowitz  limply. 

"That's  what  they  do.  Now  if  I  knew  you 
were  wanted  in  New  York  for  a  crime,  all  I'd 
have  to  do  would  be  to  call  a  cop  and  he'd  hold 
you  and  telephone  to  the  police  in  New  York." 

"I  didn't  do  any  crime,"  cried  Lapidowitz. 
"I  guess  I  go  out  and  see  if  my  friends  have 
came  over  the  ferry." 

Lapidowitz  left  the  hotel  with  a  cold  perspira- 
tion upon  his  forehead.  Even  here  in  New  Jer- 
sey he  was  not  safe  from  the  clutches  of  the  law. 


200          With  the  Best  Intention 

What  a  fool  Milken  was  to  tell  him  that  cock- 
and-bull  story  about  criminals  being  safe  in 
this  state.  Still,  he  thought,  the  Widow  Plan- 
sky  would  probably  never  dream  of  his  being 
in  New  Jersey,  and  Litolff  would  be  too  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  affairs  to  pay  much  attention 
to  any  suspicions  that  might  arise  in  his  mind. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  with  considerable  nervous- 
ness that  he  awaited  the  coming  of  the  ferry- 
boat. 

It  finally  bumped  its  way  into  the  slip,  and 
Lapidowitz,  peering  through  the  gate,  saw  the 
passengers  standing  in  groups  on  the  deck.  He 
scanned  them  closely,  but  at  first  could  not  dis- 
cern Litolff.  Just  as  the  gates  were  open,  how- 
ever, he  caught  sight  of  him  and  caught  sight, 
likewise,  of  the  Widow  Plansky  standing  close 
behind  him.  There  were  no  bystanders  to  hear 
his  shout  of  terror  and  none  to  see  him  turn  and 
run  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  Looking  neither  to 
right  nor  to  left,  he  ran  nearly  a  block  when  he 
observed  that  he  was  overtaking  a  trolley  car. 
At  the  same  moment  the  conductor  caught  sight 
of  him,  and  thinking  he  was  running  after  the 
car,  pulled  the  bell-cord.  Lapidowitz  boarded 
the  car  almost  breathless^ 

" Where  goes  the  car?"  he  asked. 


A  Night  of  Horrors  201 

"Newark,"  replied  the  conductor. 
"That's  good!"  said  Lapidowitz. 

As  soon  as  Litolff  returned  from  his  telephone 
conversation  with  Lapidowitz  he  woke  the  rabbi. 
"That  loafer  just  telephoned,"  he  explained. 
"He's  over  in  a  hotel  in  Jersey  City  waiting  for 
us.  I  couldn't  get  him  to  come  over.  Do  you 
mind,  Rabbi,  coming  with  us  I " 

It  required  considerable  persuasion  to  induce 
the  rabbi  to  accompany  them  to  Jersey  City,  but 
he  finally  consented. 

"I  go  with  you !"  said  Mrs.  Plansky,  who  had 
been  sitting  in  silence  for  several  hours.  Litolff 
stared  at  her. 

"I  got  to  see  Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  she  explained. 
"It's  important,  and  if  he  don't  come  here  I  go 
to  Jersey." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Litolff.  "Come  along 
if  you  like." 

When  they  reached  the  Star  Hotel  the  rabbi 
and  Mrs.  Plansky  yawned  sleepily.  Litolff 
looked  around  for  Lapidowitz. 

"Is  Mr.  Lapidowitz  around  here  anywhere!" 
he  asked  the  clerk. 

"A  tall  chap  with  whiskers,  in  a  dress  suit 
and  a  plug  hat?"  Litolff  nodded. 


202          With  the  Best  Intention 

"He  was  here  a  minute  ago.  He  just  went 
out  to  look  for  you,  if  you're  the  people  he  was 
expecting." 

Litolff  ran  back  to  the  ferry-house  and  gazed 
around  the  street  and  described  Lapidowitz  to 
half  a  dozen  persons,  and,  after  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  returned  to  the  hotel  without  him. 

* '  The  loafer  is  gone ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"I  guess  he'll  come  back  soon.  He  said  he 
only  had  fifty  cents,  and  he  blew  in  forty-five 
cents  telephoning  for  you.  He  can't  go  far  on 
five  cents." 

But  the  clerk  did  not  know  Lapidowitz.  He 
had  paid  his  five  cents  and  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  car  wondering  what  he  would  do  upon  his 
arrival  in  Newark,  when  the  conductor  again 
asked  him  for  his  fare. 

"I  just  paid  it!"  said  Lapidowitz  in  indig- 
nant surprise. 

"It's  five  cents  to  the  city  limits  and  five  cents 
more  to  Newark!"  the  conductor  explained. 
Lapidowitz  felt  his  heart  stop  beating  again. 
After  feeling  in  every  pocket  for  the  money  that 
he  knew  was  not  there,  he  explained  to  the  con- 
ductor that  he  had  left  all  his  change  in  his  over- 
coat pocket — an  explanation  so  plausible  from 
a  man  in  a  dress  suit  that  the  conductor  not  only 


A  Night  of  Horrors  203 

volunteered  to  pay  his  fare,  but  offered  to  lend 
him  a  dime  in  addition. 

''Make  it  a  quarter!"  said  Lapidowitz 
eagerly.  * '  I  write  down  your  name  and  address 
and  send  you  the  money  with  good  interest  so 
soon  as  I  get  home." 

The  conductor  cheerfully  acquiesced,  and 
when  Lapidowitz  arrived  in  Newark  he  was  the 
proud  owner  of  a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  He  had 
also  decided  upon  a  plan  of  action.  As  long  as 
Mrs.  Plansky  was  in  New  Jersey  it  would  be 
safe  for  him  to  return  home  with  the  violin.  It 
was  already  after  midnight,  but  he  knew  that 
if  he  had  the  money  he  would  have  no  difficulty 
in  arousing  the  pawnbroker  and  redeeming  the 
fateful  violin.  He  went  to  the  nearest  telephone 
and  called  up  the  Star  Hotel. 

"This  is  Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  came  the  clerk 's  voice.  "There's 
some  one  here  who  is  waiting  for  you." 

Lapidowitz  did  not  give  Litolff  an  opportu- 
nity to  express  any  of  his  thoughts.  "Listen, 
Litolff,"  he  began  rapidly.  "I'm  in  Newark. 
I  ain't  coming  back.  Why?  It's  a  secret  rea- 
son and  I  can't  tell  you.  You  promised  me 
twenty  dollars  after  you  got  married.  Promise 
me  now  you  will  give  me  the  twenty  dollars  when 


204          With  the  Best  Intention 

I  give  you  the  license,  and  I  will  tell  you  where 
I  am,  and  you  can  come  and  get  it.  I  could  ask 
for  more,  but  I  'm  an  honest  man  and  only  want 
what's  right.  You  got  to  swear  you'll  pay  it 
right  on  the  spot.  It's  no  use !  I  ain't  going  to 
Jersey  City.  It  can't  be  done." 

When  Litolff  had  finally  agreed  to  his  proposi- 
tion Lapidowitz  told  where  he  was  and  said  he 
would  wait  on  the  nearest  street  corner. 

The  rabbi  was  highly  indignant,  and  it  re- 
quired the  utmost  efforts  of  both  Lillie  and  Lit- 
olff to  induce  him  to  wait  any  longer.  It  was 
nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  when 
Litolff,  pale  and  furious,  met  Lapidowitz  on  the 
street  corner. 

"Mr.  Litolff,"  began  Lapidowitz,  with  out- 
stretched hands,  "believe  me — " 

"I  wouldn't  believe  you  under  oath.  Give 
me  that  license!" 

Without  a  word  Lapidowitz  handed  him  the 
marriage  license.  Litolff  examined  it  under  a 
lamp-post,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  drew  out  a  roll 
of  bills,  and  counted  out  twenty  dollars.  These 
he  handed  to  Lapidowitz. 

"That,  I  suppose,  is  all  you  want,  isn't  it?" 
he  asked  quietly. 


A  Night  of  Horrors  205 

Lapidowitz  counted  the  money,  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"If  you  don't  speak  like  a  gentleman,  that  is 
all, ' '  he  replied  with  dignity. 

The  next  instant  Litolff  's  fist  shot  out  and 
landed  with  such  energy  upon  Lapidowitz 's  nose 
that  the  latter  fell  upon  the  sidewalk.  Even 
before  Lapidowitz  could  raise  his  voice  to  shout 
any  of  the  curses  that  came  swiftly  to  his  mind, 
Litolff  was  running  to  catch  a  trolley  car  that 
would  take  him  back  to  his  belated  wedding. 

It  was  a  weary,  aching,  and  unhappy  Lapido- 
witz who,  at  break  of  day,  stole  softly  up  the 
stairs  of  the  house  in  which  he  lived,  with  the 
Widow  Plansky's  violin  under  his  arm.  He 
had  gone  to  Milken's  cafe,  which  kept  open  all 
night,  and  changed  his  clothes.  He  had  awak- 
ened the  pawnbroker  and  redeemed  his  violin. 
He  had  awakened  Harris,  and,  after  a  long 
wrangle,  had  received  two  dollars  out  of  the  ten 
he  had  left  as  security  for  the  dress  suit. 
Harris  had  insisted  upon  charging  for  two  days 
and  told  him  that  he  was  quite  lucky  to  get 
off  without  paying  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
suit,  which  looked  as  a  dress  suit  usually  does 


206          With  the  Best  Intention 

when  it  has  been  up  all  night.    And  his  nose 
ached  from  Litolff's  blow. 

He  could  not  turn  the  key  of  his  door  in  the 
lock,  and  when  he  turned  the  handle  he  found 
that  the  door  was  not  locked.  It  opened,  but 
only  an  inch.  A  barricade  of  some  kind  within 
the  room  prevented  it  from  opening  further. 

' '  It  must  be  a  policeman ! ' '  was  Lapidowitz  's 
first  thought.  But  the  possession  of  the  violin 
gave  him  courage.  He  could  say  that  he  had 
lent  it  to  a  musician — he  wondered  why  he  had 
not  thought  of  that  before.  He  tapped  softly 
upon  the  door.  A  guttural  voice  in  pristine 
Yiddish  answered  from  within. 

"It's  no  use.  You  can't  get  in,  and  I  won't 
get  out  until  Lapidowitz  returns." 

After  the  excitement  of  the  evening  Lapido- 
witz was  upon  the  verge  of  collapse.  "I'm  La- 
pidowitz ! "  he  answered.  ' '  Who  is  it  f " 

"Lapidowitz!"  cried  the  voice  joyfully. 
"Gott  sei  dank!" 

Lapidowitz  heard  the  creaking  of  a  man  rising 
quickly  out  of  bed  and  heard  a  bureau  and  a 
table  and  some  chairs  pushed  across  the  floor. 
Then  the  door  opened,  and  in  the  dawn  he  beheld 
a  grizzled-haired,  jolly-looking  person,  whose 
ringlets  of  hair  over  the  ears  and  his  gaberdine 


A  Night  of  Horrors  207 

betokened  the  newly  arrived  Kussian  immigrant, 
and  whose  ragged  clothes  and  unkempt  appear- 
ance Lapidowitz,  with  a  sinking  heart,  recog- 
nised as  those  of  a  Ghetto  schnorrer.  He  en- 
tered the  room  and,  without  a  word,  restored  the 
violin  to  its  place  in  the  closet.  Then  he  lit  the 
gas  and  calmly  surveyed  the  figure  before  him. 
Yes,  it  was  unmistakable. 

1 '  I  'm  Bimberg, ' '  said  the  man.  '  *  Your  father 
— oh,  how  good  he  always  was  to  me!  I  have 
been  dying  to  see  you. ' ' 

Lapidowitz  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  He  had 
come  to  the  end  of  his  emotions. 

"But  that  terrible  woman!"  Bimberg  went 
on.  "As  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  told  me  to 
get  out.  She  said  she  wouldn't  have  me  in  the 
house.  And  when  I  told  her  who  I  was  she 
said  some  things  about  you  that  I  wouldn't  even 
repeat.  But  I  wouldn't  leave  the  room  because 
I  knew  how  glad  you  would  be  to  see  me.  I 
pushed  the  bureau  and  the  table  against  the  door 
so  that  she  couldn't  come  in.  Then  she  said  she 
would  go  out  and  find  you  and  if  you  didn't  put 
me  out  she  would  put  us  both  out.  My!  The 
names  she  called  us !  And  she  was  always  talk- 
ing about  some  rich  Bimberg." 

Lapidowitz  swallowed  a  lump  that  kept  rising 


208          With  the  Best  Intention 

to  his  throat.  "Why  didn't  you  go  to  some 
hotel!"  he  asked. 

"A  hotel?"  repeated  Bimberg,  with  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  upon  his  breast.  "Me  go  to  a 
hotel  ?  Where  should  I  get  the  money  to  go  to  a 
hotel?  I  didn't  even  take  my  clothes  off.  1 
was  just  waiting  for  you.  See!  Here's  my 
satchel ! ' ' 

He  pointed  to  a  tattered  object  bound  with 
innumerable  pieces  of  twine  and  rope.  Lapi- 
dowitz  sighed  and  drew  a  dollar  from  his  pocket. 

"It's  late,"  he  said  weakly.  "Here  is  some 
money.  Three  doors  away  on  the  right  as  you 
go  out  is  a  hotel.  I'll  see  you  when  I  wake  up." 

Bimberg,  yawning,  took  the  money,  gathered 
up  his  dilapidated  baggage,  and  with  a  hearty 
"Sleep  well!"  went  out  of  the  room.  Lapido- 
witz  went  to  bed,  but  could  not  sleep.  His 
night's  adventures  were  completely  wiped  from 
his  mind.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  that  the 
widow  Plansky  knew  nothing  of  the  absence  of 
the  violin,  but  was  merely  bent  upon  dispossess- 
ing an  unwelcome  lodger.  He  forgot  that  his 
nose  ached  from  its  encounter  with  Litolff  's  fist. 
In  fact,  there  was  absolutely  no  coherence  in  his 
thoughts.  In  a  vague,  benumbed  way,  he  was 
thinking  of  Bimberg! 


XI 

Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek 

NIGHT  had  fallen  while  Lapidowitz  sat 
upon  a  bench  in  Tompkins  Square  wait- 
ing for  something  to«turn  up.  Tompkins  Square 
was  rather  far  from  his  usual  haunts,  but  La- 
pidowitz was  tired  of  being  dunned  by  his  cred- 
itors, and  inasmuch  as  he  owed  nearly  every- 
body whom  he  knew  and  as  he  knew  nearly 
everybody  in  the  Ghetto,  he  had,  for  the  nonce, 
stepped  beyond  the  Ghetto 's  confines  to  rest  and 
to  think.  The  object  of  this  explanation  is  to 
point  out  that  Lapidowitz 's  own  personal  pre- 
dilection had  as  much  to  do  with  his  sitting  down 
in  Tompkins  Square  as  any  caprice  of  fate. 
Lapidowitz  always  blamed  fate  when  things 
went  wrong,  taking  credit  to  himself,  of  course, 
when  matters  came  out  right. 

He  had  come,  once  more,  near  to  the  end  of 
his  resources.  His  assets,  as  he  figured  them, 
amounted  to  seventy-five  cents  in  his  pocket, — 
and  the  widow  Poliansky.  The  widow  was  over 

209 


210          With  the  Best  Intention 

fifty  and  not  beautiful.  In  fact,  it  even  pained 
Lapidowitz  to  think  of  her;  but  she  wore  dia- 
mond earrings,  and  she  had  cast  tender  eyes 
upon  Lapidowitz.  Wherefore  he  had  decided 
that  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  he  would 
marry  her.  And  now  he  sat  wondering  how 
near  the  worst  had  come  to  the  worst,  and 
whether  there  was  not  time  and  space  between 
for  something  to  turn  up. 

If  you  wait  long  enough  for  something  to  turn 
up,  something  turns  up.  This  is  one  of  na- 
ture's beneficent  laws.  It  may  be  a  stroke  of 
good  fortune,  or  it  may  be  only  a  thunder-storm. 
But  it  is  sure  to  be  something,  the  only  trouble 
being  that  it  is  not  given  to  every  one  to  know 
immediately  whether  this  something  be  good  or 
bad.  In  the  case  of  Lapidowitz  something 
turned  up  almost  immediately. 

A  portly  son  of  Israel  seated  himself,  with 
many  creaks  and  groans,  upon  the  bench  beside 
Lapidowitz  and,  with  a  grimace  that  was  meant 
for  a  friendly  smile,  remarked,  "A  fat  man 
ain'd  got  no  bizness  to  walk  much,  ain'd  it?" 

Lapidowitz  nodded,  gazed  at  the  sky,  and 
sighed. 

"You  got  troubles?"  asked  the  stranger  sym- 
pathetically. 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek          211 

"You  bet  I  got!"  answered  Lapidowitz  fer- 
vently. And  a  few  minutes  later  he  found  him- 
self unburdening  his  heart  into  the  stranger's 
ears.  It  was  a  sad  story  that  he  told,  and  he 
told  it  well.  Any  one  who  did  not  know  Lapido- 
witz would  have  believed  it.  It  touched  his 
hearer's  heart. 

"I  tell  you  vot,"  said  the  fat  man.  "I  gif 
you  a  chob  by  my  store.  It  ain'd  a  big  chob,  but 
it  iss  better  as  not 'ings.  Here  iss  my  card. 
You  come  around  by  der  morning  at  seven 
o'glock." 

"Sefen  d'glock?"  repeated  Lapidowitz. 

The  man  nodded.  "I  know  id  iss  late,"  he 
said,  "but  I  don'd  get  down  before  dot.  I  gif 
you  a  chob  to  come  efry  day  by  six  o'clock,  make 
open  der  store,  und  sveep  it  ouid. ' ' 

"Unt  how  late  I  haf  to  work?"  asked  Lapido- 
witz. 

'  *  Undil  eight  o  'glock  by  nights.  I  gif  you  five 
dollars  der  veek  in  der  commencement.  I  know 
it  ain'd  much,  but  you  say  you  haf  not  a  cent  got, 
so  it  iss  better  as  not 'ings." 

Lapidowitz  took  the  card  which  the  stranger 
had  handed  to  him  and  tore  it  in  half.  "Maybe 
I'm  poor,"  he  said,  "but  I  ain'd  a  loafer!  Six 


212          With  the  Best  Intention 

o  'glock  in  der  morning !  Five  dollars  der  veek ! 
Suchachob!" 

The  stranger  slowly  rose.  "Maybe  yon  ain'd 
a  loafer,"  he  said,  "but  if  you  ain'd  I  don't 
know  vot  iss  vun ! ' ' 

And  he  walked  off,  leaving  Lapidowitz  mutter- 
ing indignantly  to  himself:  "Six  o 'glock! 
Five  dollars !  Such  a  chob ! ' ' 

A  half -hour  went  by.  Lapidowitz  continued 
to  sit  and  think  and  wait  for  something  to  turn 
up,  and  again  something  turned  up.  Fate  was 
good  to  Lapidowitz  this  day.  A  slender,  pock- 
marked individual,  with  but  one  eye,  came  saun- 
tering along,  and  took  the  seat  that  the  fat  man 
had  vacated.  Without  a  word  to  Lapidowitz  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  huge  roll  of  bills  and 
began  counting  them.  The  process  interested 
Lapidowitz  immensely.  It  was  too  dark  for  him 
to  see  the  denominations  of  the  bills,  but  their 
bulk  was  impressive.  Lapidowitz  began  to  won- 
der what  he  would  do  if  the  man  suddenly 
dropped  dead.  Instead  of  dropping  dead,  how- 
ever, the  man  pocketed  the  money,  turned  to  La- 
pidowitz with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  remarked, 

"I hate  them  Jews!" 

For  a  moment  Lapidowitz  was  taken  aback. 
Then  a  sudden  anti-Semitic  wave  swept  through 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek          213 

him,  and  he  nodded  sympathetically.  "Dey  iss 
no  good/'  he  said.  "I  am  vun  because  I  can't 
help  it,  but  I  don't  like  dem!" 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,"  the  man  said.  "I 
seen  that  the  moment  I  looked  at  you.  But  them 
dogs  in  the  tenement-houses  is  a  bad  lot.  I  live 
'way  up  in  the  Bronx,  and  I  got  to  come  down 
here  every  month  to  collect  the  rents  in  that  big 
tenement-house  over  there  I  don't  speak  -their 
lingo,  and  I  tell  you  it's  hard  work  making  them 
pay  up.  I  wish  I  had  some  one  to  collect  the 
rents  for  me.  I'd  be  willing  to  give  him  half 
the  profits  if  he  'd  save  me  the  trouble  of  coming 
down  from  the  Bronx  every  month. ' ' 

Lapidowitz  gripped  the  bench  tightly  and 
tried  to  repress  his  eagerness.  *  *  I  tell  you  vot, ' ' 
he  said  with  forced  calmness.  "I  got  not 'ings 
to  do.  I  collect  der  rents  for  you  so  dot  you 
don't  got  to  come  down  from  der  Bronnix." 

The  man  gazed  at  him  suspiciously  and  shook 
his  head.  "I'm  sure  you're  all  right,"  he  said, 
"but,  you  see,  I  don't  know  you.  It's  a  lot  o' 
money  to  handle — over  five  hundred  dollars  a 
month — and  half  the  collector's  share  would 
only  be  worth  twenty-five  dollars  to  you.  It 
don't  amount  to  much." 

Twenty-five  dollars  a  month  for  collecting 


214          With  the  Best  Intention 

rents!  Lapidowitz 's  head  fairly  swam.  It 
would  only  be  a  few  hours'  work  each  month 
because  he  would  know  how  to  handle  any  ten- 
ant who  showed  signs  of  delinquency.  With 
painful  eagerness  he  proceeded  to  disclose  his 
identity.  He  told  the  stranger  his  name  and 
his  address.  He  told  him  the  entire  history  of 
his  life,  embellishing  it  beautifully  as  he  pro- 
ceeded and  giving  the  names  of  all  the  prom- 
inent people  in  the  Ghetto  whom  he  knew,  as 
proof  of  his  veracity.  But  the  stranger  only 
shook  his  head. 

"  You'd  have  to  put  up  a  bond  or  a  deposit 
for  security,"  he  said.  "If  you  had  a  couple 
o '  hundred  dollars  to  leave  with  me  or  my  bank 
it'd  be  all  right.  Because,  you  see,  business  is 
business. ' ' 

"  Vare  can  I  see  you  to-morrow  night!"  asked 
Lapidowitz. 

"You  can  come  up  to  my  office  in  the  Bronx," 
said  the  stranger,  "or — wait  here  a  minute. 
I '11  be  right  back." 

Lapidowitz  watched  the  man  walk  across  the 
street  and  into  the  tenement-house  that  he  had 
indicated.  Two  hundred  dollars!  How  could 
he  possibly  raise  such  a  sum?  And  yet  it  was 
little  enough  to  give  as  security  for  an  income 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek          215 

of  twenty-five  dollars  a  month.  The  stranger 
returned,  frowning,  and  stood  before  Lapido- 
witz. 

' '  He  am 't  come  home  yet, ' '  he  said.  '  *  That 's 
the  old  story.  So  to-morrow  night  I'll  have  to 
come  down  from  the  Bronx  again.  If  you  care 
to  see  me  I'll  be  siting  right  here  about  this 
time,  waiting  for  that  tenant  to  come  home. 
And  I'll  bet  he  won't  come  at  that.  Well,  good 
night,  mister." 

"Good  night!"  cried  Lapidowitz  cordially. 
"I  come  sure  to-morrow  night." 

Lapidowitz  entered  Milken's  Cafe  and  or- 
dered a  slivovitz. 

' '  Cash  or  on  der  account  f ' '  asked  Milken. 

Lapidowitz  frowned.  "  Except  I  say  differ- 
ent it  goes  on  der  account,"  he  said. 

Milken  brought  him  a  glass  of  third-rate  sli- 
vovitz and  then  seated  himself  at  Lapidowitz 's 
table. 

"Barish  hass  a  big  bar  mitzvah  party  for  his 
liddle  boy  to-night,"  he  said  meaningly.  "V'y 
didn't  you  go?" 

"Bar  mitzvah  parties  don'd  interest  me," 
said  Lapidowitz.  '  *  Vot  vould  you  do  if  you  vos 
in  my  place?  I  got  a  chancet  to  make  tventy- 


216          With  the  Best  Intention 

five  dollars  a  month,  if  I  can  get  two  hundert 
dollars  for  segurity.  How  can  I  do  it!" 

Milken  grinned.  "If  you  had  two  hundert 
dollars,  Lapidowitz,"  he  said,  "I  vould  nefer 
see  you  until  it  all  vos  gone.  By  Barish's  har 
mitzvah  party  iss  Mr.  Liebenstein,  Mr.  Gor- 
donsky,  Mr.  Lubarsky,  Mr.  Semel,  unt  all  der 
people  vot  hass  two  hundert  dollars  to  lend  you. 
Vy  you  don't  go?  Barish  could  easy  gif  you 
two  hundret  dollars." 

Lapidowitz  owed  Milken  nearly  two  hundred 
dollars,  and  while  Milken  liked  him  he  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  schnorrer's  audacity.  Yet 
he  had  given  Lapidowitz  an  idea.  The  schnor- 
rer's brain  worked  at  a  gallop  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then,  with  the  happy  smile  of  a  man 
who  has  solved  a  difficult  problem,  he  left  the 
place.  He  returned  to  thrust  his  head  into  the 
doorway  and  ask, 

"Vare  iss  dot  party?" 

"In  Excelsior  Hall,"  said  Milken.  "Don't 
be  foolish.  If  you  ain't  got  a  invitation  you 
can't  get  in." 

Lapidowitz  grinned,  but  did  not  answer.  He 
went  to  a  jeweller's  store  on  Grand  Street  and 
bought  the  most  brilliant  pair  of  sleeve-buttons 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek          217 

that  fifty  cents  could  purchase.  By  artificial 
light  they  glittered  and  sparkled  most  beauti- 
fully. Oh,  the  joyous  night  lights  that  make 
every  crystal  a  diamond,  and  all  that  glitters 
real  gold!  What  an  effect  those  lights  have 
had  upon  the  history  of  mankind!  And  what 
a  temptation  it  is  to  speculate  upon  them  and 
let  the  imagination  ramble! 

But  we  must  neither  speculate  nor  ramble. 
We  have  Lapidowitz  to  deal  with. 

At  the  entrance  to  Excelsior  Hall  he  was 
stopped  by  an  attendant,  who  asked  him  to 
show  his  ticket. 

"Tell  Mrs.  Barish,"  said  Lapidowitz,  "dot 
a  chentleman  here  iss  vot  got  a  present  for  her 
little  boy." 

A  bar  mitzvah  party  is  given  to  celebrate  the 
fact  that  a  boy  has  reached  the  age  of  thirteen 
and  become  a  full-fledged  communicant  of  the 
Jewish  church.  And  the  attendant  could  not 
help  admiring  Lapidowitz.  He  delivered  the 
message  and  returned  with  the  answer, ' '  '  Any- 
body/ she  says,  'vot  got  a  present  for  Jakey  iss 
welcome!'  " 

And  a  few  moments  later,  Lapidowitz,  after 
elbowing  his  way  through  a  dense  throng,  pre- 


218          With  the  Best  Intention 

sented  the  sleeve-buttons  to  the  heir  of  the 
house  of  Barish  and  received  Mrs.  Barish's  ful- 
some thanks. 

"Six  times  I  said  to  my  husband  to  invite 
you,"  she  explained,  "und  efry  time  he  forget 
it." 

"A  invitation,"  replied  Lapidowitz,  grandly, 
"iss  not  in  my  mind.  But  such  a  sveet  little 
boy  vot  you  got  should  haf  efryt'ing  vot  I  can 
gif  him. ' ' 

Inasmuch  as  this  sentiment  reflected  the  ex- 
act feeling  of  the  boy's  mother  she  beamed  cor- 
dially upon  the  schnorrer.  "In  der  corner," 
she  said,  "a  table  iss  vit'  sandviches  und  cakes. 
You  should  go  und  eat  all  you  can." 

Lapidowitz  lost  no  time  in  finding  this  table, 
and  after  eating  all  he  could  hold  he  filled  his 
pockets  with  sandwiches  and  slices  of  cold  meat. 
A  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder  and  he  turned  to 
behold  the  tear-stained  countenance  of  his  host. 

"Nefer  vill  I  forgif  myself,"  said  Barish,  in 
a  broken  voice,  "for  not  inviting  you.  My  vife 
hass  told  me  vot  a  beautiful  present  you  gif  to 
Jakey.  Oh,  Lapidowitz,  diss  iss  such  a  happy 
night  in  my  life. '  ' 

"Der  last  cent  vot  I  got,"  said  Lapidowitz, 
hastily  cramming  half  a  chicken  into  his  coat 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek  219 

pocket,  "I  gif  for  dot  lufly  boy  vot  you  got. 
Sveet  little  Jakey!" 

Lapidowitz  paused  to  rub  his  handkerchief 
over  his  eyes,  whereupon  Barish  fell  upon  his 
shoulder  and  wept  outright. 

"Say,  Mr.  Barish, "  Lapidowitz  went  on, 
clutching  his  host  tightly,  "I  got  a  fine  chancet 
to  make  tventy-five  dollars  a  month  by  collect- 
ing rents.  Only  two  hundret  dollars  I  need  for 
segurity.  You — my  old  friend,  der  papa  uf 
sveet  little  Jakey — you  surely  vill  help  me." 

Barish  broke  loose  from  the  schnorrer's  em- 
brace and  drew  out  his  pocketbook.  He  handed 
Lapidowitz  three  dollars.  "From  der  bottom 
uf  my  heart !"  he  said.  "You  pay  it  back  next 
veek  if  you  like.  Excuse  me  now  because  I 
must  talk  to  efrybody." 

Lapidowitz  espied  Lubarsky,  the  wealthy 
real-estate  dealer,  drinking  champagne  at  one 
of  the  side  tables.  He  leaned  over  his  shoulder 
and  whispered  to  him,  "Could  I  see  you  for  a 
minute  about  a  bizness?"  he  asked. 

Lubarsky  turned,  saw  who  it  was,  and  ex- 
claimed jovially:  "Hello,  Lapidowitz!  How 
did  you  get  in?  Sit  down  and  haf  a  drink  to 
little  Jakey 's  health." 

Lapidowitz  shook  his  head.    "I  nefer  drink 


220          "With  the  Best  Intention 

ven  I  got  bizness  on  der  brain,  Mr.  Lubarsky. 
Listen!  Such  a  chancet  vot  I  got  to  make 
tventy-five  dollars  a  month!  All  I  need  is — " 

''Money,"  interrupted  Lubarsky.  "Sit 
down,  Lapidowitz.  Here  iss  five  dollars.  Not 
a  cent  more.  Dot  makes  forty-six  vot  you  owe 
me.  Now  sit  down  und  haf  a  glass  uf  cham- 
pagne und  shut  up  und  be  a  chentleman.  If  it 
vosn't  a  bar  mitzvah  party  I  vouldn't  gif  you 
a  cent." 

Lapidowitz  pocketed  the  money  and  hastened 
across  the  room.  He  had  caught  sight  of  the 
widow  Poliansky  making  her  way  through  the 
crowd  toward  the  supper-table.  She  greeted 
him  cordially. 

''Dear  Mr.  Lapidowitz!"  she  exclaimed  in 
Yiddish.  "Come  along  with  me,  and  we  will 
eat  some  cold  chicken  together.  I  love  cold 
chicken  when  I'm  hungry!" 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  table,  it  had  been 
entirely  relieved  of  its  burden  of  cold  chicken. 
But  Lapidowitz,  with  a  mischievous  smile,  whis- 
pered into  the  widow's  ear,  "Come  over  to  a 
quiet  corner,  and  I  will  show  you  a  surprise." 

When  they  had  found  a  nook  where  no  one 
could  overhear  them,  Lapidowitz  drew  half  a 
chicken  from  his  pocket. 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek          221 

"I  kept  it  for  you!"  lie  said  unblushingly. 
"I  knew  you  liked  cold  chicken,  and  I  knew  if 
you  didn't  come  soon  it  would  all  be  gone." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lapidowitz!"  cried  the  widow. 

His  gallantry  overwhelmed  her,  and  she  could 
do  nothing  but  gaze  at  him  with  soulful  eyes. 
In  spite  of  the  irregularity  of  her  features  she 
really  had  nice  eyes  and  was  very  lavish  in  her 
use  of  them.  Lapidowitz  tried  to  project  his 
soul  into  his  eyes  as  he  returned  her  gaze. 
"Mrs.  Poliansky, "  he  said,  "you  are  a  fine  busi- 
ness lady,  and  maybe  you  can  give  me  some  ad- 
vice. I  have  such  a  fine  chance  to  make  tventy- 
five  dollars  a  month — oh,  so  easy! — if  I  only 
could  raise  two  hundred  dollars  for  security. 
If  I  had  a  regular  income  like  that  the  first 
thing  I  would  think  of  is  to  get  married.  Now 
what  would  you  advise  me  to  do?"  He  drew  a 
sandwich  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  eat  it. 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  you  to 
get  married,"  answered  the  widow.  "Every 
man  when  he  is  as  old  as  you  are  should  be 
married. '  ' 

"Yes,  but  what  I  mean  is,  what  would  you 
advise  me  to  do  about  getting  two  hundred  dol- 
lars?" 

The  widow,  her  mouth  full  of  cold  chicken, 


222          With  the  Best  Intention 

looked  around  the  room.  "Over  there  is  Mr. 
Semel  and  Mr.  Liebenstein  and  Mr.  Gordonsky 
and  Mr.  Barish  and  Mr.  Lubarsky.  They  could 
easily  afford  to  lend  you  two  hundred  dollars. 
Mr.  Semel  is  my  banker,  and  I  know  he  is  very 
rich.  I  would  lend  it  myself  only  my  husband 
made  me  promise  before  he  died  that  I  never 
would  lend  a  cent  to  any  man  until  I  got  mar- 
ried again." 

Lapidowitz  looked  at  her  reproachfully.  "I 
will  do  what  you  say, ' '  said  he.  1 1 1  will  ask  Mr. 
Semel  for  the  money.  And  if  I  get  the  job  I 
will  come  around  to  see  you." 

"I  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  widow 
with  a  coquettish  smile. 

* '  The  homely  old  hag ! ' '  muttered  Lapidowitz 
as  he  left  her  side.  "I  would  have  to  be  hun- 
gry before  I  married  her." 

He  had  never  attempted  to  borrow  money  of 
Mr.  Semel.  The  banker's  reputation  for  gen- 
erosity was  not  such  as  to  encourage  a  prospec- 
tive borrower.  But  Lapidowitz  was  deter- 
mined to  leave  no  chance  untried,  and  seeing 
Semel  lounging  idly  against  the  wall,  smoking 
and  apparently  in  genial  humour,  approached 
him  boldly. 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek  223 

"Mr.  Semel,"  lie  said,  "I  haf  came  to  talk 
bizness." 

Semel 's  whole  attitude  seemed  to  stiffen,  and 
his  lips  closed  tightly  upon  his  cigar. 

"I  need  two  hundert  dollars,"  continued  the 
schnorrer.  "You  haf  lots  uf  money.  Two 
hundret  dollars  make  no  difference  vit'  you. 
Vit'  me  it  means  a  job  for  tventy-five  dollars 
a  month.  Now  vot  I  vould  like  to  say — " 

"Vait  a  minute,"  said  Semel,  taking  a  roll  of 
bills  from  his  pocket.  "Chust  vait  vun  min- 
ute." He  counted  the  money  carefully.  Then 
he  took  from  the  roll  a  dollar  bill.  "If  you 
don't  tell  me  any  more  about  der  scheme,"  he 
said,  "I  gif  you  a  dollar.  If  you  don't  like  it, 
den  I  listen  because  I  got  not  'ing  else  to  do.  But 
you  don't  get  a  cent.  I  haf  two  schnorrer  s  vot 
come  to  me  efry  veek,  unt  vit'  dem  I  haf 
enough. ' ' 

Lapidowitz  took  the  dollar  and  silently  cursed 
Semel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba.  After  that  he 
tried  Gordonsky,  Liebenstein,  and  a  dozen  oth- 
ers. The  festive  spirit  of  the  evening  seemed 
to  have  the  effect  of  making  them  all  generous. 
The  two-hundred-dollar  proposition  no  one 
seemed  to  take  seriously,  but  the  net  result  of 


224          With  the  Best  Intention 

the  night's  work  was  that  Lapidowitz  left  Ex- 
celsior Hall  with  nearly  forty  dollars  in  his 
pocket. 

All  that  night  he  could  not  sleep.  He  tried 
to  think  of  a  way  to  overcome  the  real-estate 
agent's  insistence  upon  security,  but  no  promis- 
ing scheme  occurred  to  him.  The  best  he  could 
think  of  was  to  tell  the  man  exactly  how  matters 
stood  with  him  and  how  much  he  needed  just 
such  work. 

It  was  a  weary  Lapidowitz  who  sat  in  Tomp- 
kins  Square  the  following  night.  He  waited 
nearly  an  hour,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
door  of  the  tenement-house  across  the  street. 
Then  he  heard  a  cheerful  voice  greeting  him 
and,  turning,  beheld  his  acquaintance  approach- 
ing from  the  rear. 

"I  fought  you  nefer  vould  come,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "All  der  time  I  haf  been  vatching 
der  house." 

"Oh,  I've  been  in  there  half  a  dozen  times," 
said  the  stranger  wearily.  "I  guess  that  fel- 
low doesn't  intend  to  pay  the  rent.  I'll  have 
to  put  him  out,  because  I  can't  keep  on  coming 
down  from  the  Bronx  every  day  just  for  one 
rent.  "Well,  would  you  like  to  collect  them  for 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek  225 

me!  I've  been  inquiring  about  you,  and  they 
tell  me  you're  pretty  well  known  on  the  East 
Side,  so  I  guess  you're  all  right.  But  I'll  have 
to  have  security  just  the  same.  Business  is 
business,  you  know." 

Lapidowitz  told  him  that  he  had  been  unable 
to  raise  two  hundred  dollars,  and  the  man's  face 
fell. 

"I  done  der  best  I  could,"  said  Lapidowitz 
eagerly.  "But  der  best  friends  vot  I  got  iss 
not  in  der  city  just  now.  Maybe  if  you  let  me 
try  it — just  vunce — den  you  von't  need  no  se- 
gurity." 

The  man  frowned  and  focused  his  one  eye 
upon  Lapidowitz.  "How  much  could  you 
raise?"  he  asked. 

Lapidowitz  produced  the  spoils  of  the  pre- 
vious evening.  "  T  'oity-eight  dollars  is  der 
best  I  could  do,"  said  he. 

For  several  minutes  the  one-eyed  man  seemed 
to  ponder  over  the  matter,  and  then,  "Well," 
said  he,  "I  guess  you  meant  well,  and  I'll  give 
you  a  trial.  But  I  can't  let  you  collect  all  the 
rents.  Here,  let  me  have  the  money  and  I'll 
fix  the  thing  up  for  you. ' ' 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  two  sheets  of  paper, 
upon  one  of  which  he  scribbled  a  few  words. 


226          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Here's  a  receipt  that  I  had  made  out  for 
your  deposit.  I  had  two  hundred  dollars  in  it, 
but  I've  changed  it  to  thirty-eight.  You  see, 
you  get  interest  at  six  per  cent.,  because  I'm 
only  keeping  the  money  as  security,  and  I  don't 
want  to  make  any  profit  out  of  it.  Now  here's 
an  order  from  me  to  all  the  tenants  to  pay  the 
rent  to  you  and  a  list  of  the  names  and  the 
amount  each  one  must  pay.  But  I  only  want 
you  to  collect  the  first  six  rents  next  month.  I  '11 
have  to  come  down  here  anyway,  and  I  want 
to  see  how  you  get  along.  After  that  we  will 
see  what  we  will  see!" 

Lapidowitz's  heart  leaped  with  joy.  ''Mis- 
ter," he  said,  "nefer  vill  you  be  sorry.  I  col- 
lect dem  rents  so  fast  you  nefer  vill  haf  to  come 
down  from  der  Bronnix.  Vot  iss  der  name  uf 
der  man  vot  hass  not  yet  paid?" 

The  man  mused  a  moment,  then,  " That's  a 
good  idea,"  he  said.  "You  might  start  in  with 
him.  But  don't  go  to-night.  Wait  until  to- 
morrow morning,  and  then  catch  him  before  he 
leaves  the  house.  His  name  is  Bosenstein,  and 
he  lives  on  the  top  floor.  And  here  is  a  card 
with  my  name  and  address.  You  can  put  the 
money  in  your  bank  and  send  me  a  check  for  it. 
Take  off  five  per  cent,  for  your  commission,  and 


Lapidowitz  Meets  Greek  227 

then  I  take  off  five  per  cent,  for  mine.  Thank 
God,  I  won't  have  to  come  down  here  so  often 
after  this." 

From  the  card  Lapidowitz  learned  that  the 
man's  name  was  Thomas  Jones.  He  shook  Mr. 
Thomas  Jones's  hand  with  great  ardour. 

That  night  Lapidowitz  went  to  bed  a  happy 
man.  Once  more  he  was  free  of  the  necessity 
of  working.  Upon  twenty-five  dollars  a  month 
he  could  live  in  the  idleness  that  he  craved  until 
something  better  turned  up.  And  when  he 
thought  of  the  widow  Poliansky  he  actually 
grinned.  She  could  jump  off  a  dock  before  he 
would  marry  her. 

Why  dwell  upon  the  awaking?  Six  times  the 
owner  of  the  tenement-house,  who  lived  on  the 
first  floor,  told  Lapidowitz  that  there  was  no 
such  person  as  Eosenstein  in  the  house,  that 
he  collected  his  own  rents,  and  that  he  had  never 
seen  a  one-eyed  man  by  the  name  of  Jones. 
Those  who  live  by  their  wits  are  slow  to  grasp 
the  fact  that  they  have  been  outwitted.  Lapi- 
dowitz's  mind  had  been  bent  so  intently  upon 
his  own  lazy  ambition  that  he  had  never  given 
a  thought  to  the  integrity  of  the  one-eyed  man. 

He  returned  to  the  bench  in  Tompkins  Square 
and  went  over  every  detail  of  his  negotiations 


228          With  the  Best  Intention 

with  Mr.  Thomas  Jones.  And  when  the  truth 
dawned  upon  him  he  was  too  crestfallen  even  to 
feel  keenly  resentful.  He  went  to  the  nearest 
police  station  and  told  his  story. 

"We'll  see  what  we  can  do,"  said  the  officer 
at  the  desk,  "but  there  isn't  much  hope.  It's 
a  new  game,  and  I  guess  the  chap  doesn't  be- 
long around  here.  I  '11  bet  he 's  an  amateur  and 
not  a  professional." 

"A  amateur?"  repeated  Lapidowitz  incredu- 
lously. '  *  He  done  it  so  good ! ' ' 

With  bowed  head  and  dejected  mien  Lapido- 
witz walked  slowly  to  the  widow  Poliansky's 
house.  The  worst  had  come  to  the  worst.  Be- 
fore he  could  open  his  mouth  she  rushed  toward 
him  and  laid  her  hands  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  told  Mr.  Semel,"  she  cried,  "I  was  going 
to  give  you  a  kiss  as  soon  as  I  saw  you.  And  he 
says  he  ain't  jealous.  So  soon  as  you  went 
away  he  comes  to  me  and  asks  me  why  I  was 
talking  so  much  to  you.  And  when  I  told  him 
everything  he  said  I  had  such  a  good  heart  he 
wants  to  marry  me.  So,  dear  Mr.  Lapidowitz 
who  brought  me  such  happiness,  you  can  have 
one  kiss!" 

But  Lapidowitz,  heedless  of  her  pouting  lips, 
turned  and  fled. 


xn 

Knight  Takes  Queen 

THE  Talmud  lays  great  stress  upon  wis- 
dom. Why  this  is  so,  I  do  not  know — I 
have  never  been  able  to  make  out  exactly  what 
wisdom  is.  The  life  of  a  cow  has  always  ap- 
pealed to  me  as  a  perfectly  rounded  existence 
where  all  the  qualities  that  pertain  to  the 
creature  are  developed  to  their  fullest  capacity. 
The  cow  fulfils  its  destiny  beautifully,  but  inas- 
much as  the  cow  is  never  advanced  as  an  ex- 
ample of  wisdom  it  must  be  that  a  perfectly 
rounded  existence  and  the  fullest  development 
of  a  creature's  faculties  do  not  constitute  all 
that  there  is  of  wisdom.  There  must  be  some- 
thing more. 

I  submit  all  this  to  the  cogitation  of  any 
philosopher  who  cares  to  cogitate  upon  it.  It 
is  merely  a  reflection  that  comes  to  the  mind 
apropos  of  the  story  of  Solomon  Kafka. 

Solomon  Kafka — or  "  Solly "  Kafka,  as  every 
one  called  him — was  a  student  of  the  Talmud 

229 


230          With  the  Best  Intention 

and,  as  such,  was  supposed  by  his  parents  and 
by  all  who  were  interested  in  his  career  to  ab- 
sorb endless  wisdom  from  that  wonderful  work. 
A  pious  uncle  had  bequeathed  his  possessions  to 
the  Kafkas  upon  the  condition  that  Solly  become 
a  rabbi.  Solly  would  have  liked  to  argue  the 
matter  with  his  uncle,  but  as  his  uncle  was  dead 
it  was,  of  course,  impossible  to  argue  with  him. 
Once  Solly  suggested  that  they  get  a  lawyer  to 
prove  that  his  uncle  was  crazy  when  he  made  his 
will,  but  his  parents  would  not  hear  of  it. 
Nothing  remained,  therefore,  but  for  Solly  to 
buckle  down  to  the  study  of  the  Torah  and  the 
Talmud,  the  cabala  and  other  such  fonts  of 
wisdom. 

It  is  undeniably  a  great  thing  to  feel  yourself 
growing  wiser  and  wiser  and  to  find  that  your 
former  companions  and  even  your  parents  look 
upon  you  with  a  feeling  akin  to  awe.  Even  in 
the  Ghetto  a  "  student  of  divinity"  is  treated 
with  more  respect  than  a  student  of  bricklaying, 
it  being  taken  for  granted  that  the  student  ab- 
sorbs the  dignity  of  his  study.  In  a  measure 
this  attitude  of  his  little  world  rather  pleased 
Solly.  He  was  far  from  being  an  ascetic;  the 
warmth  of  friendship,  the  pleasure  of  compan- 
ionship, indulgence  in  the  good  things  of  life, 


Knight  Takes  Queen  231 

all  appealed  to  his  nature.  Yet  the  subtle  flat- 
tery involved  in  the  respectful  attitude  toward 
him  of  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances  might 
have  compensated  for  his  feeling  of  aloofness 
and  isolation,  and  Solly  might  gradually  have 
developed  into  one  of  your  real,  austere,  su- 
perior rabbis,  if  something  had  not  happened. 
Her  name  was  Josephine  Greenberg,  and  her 
eyes  were  brown,  and  she  had  the  tiniest  rose- 
bud of  a  mouth  and  the  most  wonderful  mass  of 
shimmering  hair  that  you  ever  saw.  And  when 
you  gazed  into  her  eyes  you  could  see  right 
through  to  her  wonderful  soul — at  least  Solly 
could — and  you  would  have  staked  your  life  on 
the  sweetness  and  the  goodness  and  the  spiritu- 
ality of  her  nature.  If  you  looked  very  long, 
however,  her  eyes,  perhaps,  would  twinkle  and 
a  slight  dimple  appear  in  the  middle  of  each 
cheek,  and  some  doubts  might  arise  in  your  mind 
about  her  spirituality.  To  Solly,  however,  she 
was  perfection.  When,  after  meeting  her, 
Solly  read  in  the  Talmud,  "If  a  man  has  knowl- 
edge, he  has  all  things, ' '  Solly  said  things  about 
the  Talmud  that  would  not  have  sounded  nice  at 
a  rabbinical  conference.  Not  that  Solly  un- 
derrated the  value  of  knowledge ;  he  merely  de- 
spised the  Talmud  for  underrating  Josephine, 


232          With  the  Best  Intention 

for  he  was  sure  that  without  Josephine  he  would 
have  nothing  and  with  her  he  would  have  all 
that  he  cared  for  in  life. 

It  took  but  little  time  for  Solly  to  meet  Jo- 
sephine, to  fall  in  love  with  her,  to  ask  her  fa- 
ther for  her  hand,  and  to  he  informed  that  Mr. 
Greenberg  would  as  soon  think  of  jumping  off 
a  dock  as  to  allow  his  daughter  to  marry  a  rab- 
binical student,  or  for  that  matter,  a  full-fledged 
rabbi. 

It  took  somewhat  longer  to  think  this  over 
and  digest  it;  but  after  a  week  of  thinking  and 
digesting,  Solly  found  that  he  had  made  no 
progress,  and  when,  one  night,  he  met  Josephine 
at  a  ball  and,  in  the  shadow  of  a  sideboard  laden 
with  refreshments,  found  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  with  her,  he  asked  her  if  she  would 
elope  with  him. 

"No,  Solly,"  she  said.  "Papa  made  me 
promise  that  I  would  not  marry  without  his  con- 
sent. I  told  him  I  loved  you  and  that  I  would 
never  marry  any  one  else." 

"But  he  had  no  right  to  ask  you  to  make  such 
a  promise,"  said  Solly.  "And  you  have  no 
right  to  keep  it.  I'm  going  to  him  now  and 
tell  him  what  I  think." 

But  Josephine  detained  him.     "Don't  go  to 


Knight  Takes  Queen  233 

him  now.    He's  cranky.    Do  you  play  chess?" 

"Chess?"  said  Solly.  "No.  What's  that 
got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Because  papa's  crazy  about  chess.  He 
plays  in  the  Orient  Cafe  on  Second  Avenue 
every  afternoon  and  every  night.  He's  awfully 
mad  because  mamma  made  him  come  to  the  ball 
with  us.  He  wants  to  play  chess.  If  you  go  to 
the  cafe  some  afternoon  and  find  him  in  a  good 
humour,  maybe  you  can  have  a  talk  with  him. ' ' 

Then  Solly  kissed  her  and  told  her  she  was  an 
angel — and  a  smart  angel  at  that.  The  next 
afternoon  Solly  found  Greenberg  in  the  Orient 
Cafe,  studying  a  chess  problem. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Greenberg,"  he  said.  "Are  you 
busy?" 

Greenberg  looked  up.  '  *  Do  you  play  chess  ? ' ' 
he  asked. 

Solly  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  I'm  busy,"  said  Greenberg. 

"I'd  like  to  speak  to  you  about  Josephine," 
said  Solly. 

"When  I'm  busy,"  said  Greenberg,  "I  talk 
about  nothing.  Maybe  you'd  better  be  spend- 
ing your  time  studying  your  Talmud. ' ' 

Solly,  discomfited,  withdrew  to  another  table 
and  rapped  for  a  waiter.  An  old  acquaintance 


234          With  the  Best  Intention 

of  his,  Lapidowitz,  the  schnorrer,  appeared  be- 
fore him  with  a  napkin  over  his  arm. 

''Hello,  Lapidowitz,"  exclaimed  Solly. 
"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  got  a  job.  I'm  a  waiter,"  explained  the 
schnorrer.  "When  I  get  a  little  money  saved 
up  I  buy  a  place  of  my  own.  I'm  only  getting 
experience  here.  If  you  happen  to  have  five — " 

But  Solly  shook  his  head.  "You  never  paid 
back  the  last  five  dollars  I  lent  you.  Never 
mind — don't  explain.  Bring  me  a  cup  of 
coffee." 

When  the  coffee  was  set  before  him,  Solly 
said  to  the  schnorrer,  "Do  you  play  chess?" 

Lapidowitz  shook  his  head.  "I  know  the 
moves,"  said  he,  "and  play  a  little,  but  I  ain't 
what  you'd  call  a  player." 

"Do  you  know  anybody  here  who  does?" 
asked  Solly.  "I  want  to  learn  how  to  play  it." 

Lapidowitz  surveyed  the  room.  Along  the 
wall  sat  half  a  dozen  couples  deeply  and  si- 
lently engrossed  in  the  game. 

"They  could  teach  you,  but  they're  all  busy 
playing,"  he  said.  "Waitt  Here's  Kogofsky. 
Maybe  he  '11  show  you. ' ' 

Lapidowitz  approached  a  rather  seedy-look- 
ing individual  who  had  entered  the  cafe,  and 


Knight  Takes  Queen  235 

whispered  to  him.  The  man  inspected  Solly 
critically  and  whispered  in  Lapidowitz's  ear. 

1  'He  says,"  said  Lapidowitz,  approaching 
Solly,  "he'll  be  glad  to  teach  you  chess  if  you 
treat  him  to  three  cups  of  coffee." 

Solly  accepted  the  offer,  and  a  few  moments 
later  was  receiving  his  first  lesson  in  the  royal 
and  intricate  game  of  chess. 

"It  is  a  game  of  brains,"  explained  his  in- 
structor. This  pleased  Solly  immensely,  be- 
cause he  felt  that  the  wisdom  that  he  had  im- 
bibed from  the  Talmud  would  now  come  to  his 
aid.  He  concentrated  all  his  mental  efforts 
upon  the  game.  After  an  hour  he  felt  thor- 
oughly bewildered.  He  had  not  believed  it  pos- 
sible that  so  small  a  number  of  pieces  could 
move  in  so  many  different  and  complicated 
ways,  and  he  wondered  how  any  human  being 
could  remember  it  all,  let  alone  see  any  rhyme 
or  reason  in  the  game.  As  soon  as  his  instruc- 
tor had  finished  his  third  cup  of  coffee  he  an- 
nounced the  lesson  at  an  end.  He  advised 
Solly  to  buy  a  book  on  chess  and  practise  by 
himself  for  a  while. 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like,"  he  said,  "I  will 
come  here  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee  with  you." 

Solly  purchased  a  book  and  set  of  chessmen, 


236          With  the  Best  Intention 

and  sat  up  the  greater  part  of  the  night  study- 
ing the  game.  The  next  day  he  appeared  at 
the  Orient  Cafe  again,  and  took  another  lesson 
from  Rogofsky,  this  time  a  long  one  during 
which  he  purchased  four  cups  of  coffee  for 
his  instructor.  To  his  delight  he  now  began 
to  see  order  in  the  chaos  of  moves  and  rules, 
and  some  of  the  beauty  of  the  game  began  to 
dawn  upon  him.  That  night  he  studied  again, 
and  the  following  day  he  approached  Green- 
berg. 

"Can't  we  have  a  little  talk,  Mr.  Greenberg?" 
he  asked.  "You  know  how  I  feel  about  Jose- 
phine, and  you  know — " 

"I  know  I'm  busy  trying  to  think  out  a 
problem  and  you  are  bothering  me,"  replied 
Greenberg. 

"I'll  play  you  a  game  of  chess!"  said  Solly 
abruptly. 

Greenberg  peered  at  him  over  the  rim  of  his 
spectacles.  "I  thought  you  said  you  didn't 
play?" 

"I've  been  learning,"  said  Solly.  "I'm  in- 
terested in  chess  very  much.  After  Josephine 
and  I  are  married,  you  and  I  will  often  play 
chess." 

Greenberg  turned  quite  red,  but  said  noth- 


Knight  Takes  Queen  237 

ing.  Solly  set  up  the  pieces,  and  they  began 
to  play.  From  time  to  time  Greenberg  looked 
up  from  the  chess-board  and  studied  Solly's 
face  while  the  latter  was  contemplating  a  move, 
but  his  own  countenance  was  inscrutable. 
Within  a  dozen  moves  Solly  had  captured  his 
adversary's  queen,  a  rook,  and  a  knight,  and 
his  spirits  had  begun  to  soar  when,  in  the  most 
sudden  and  unexpected  fashion,  he  found  him- 
self mated.  Without  a  word  Greenberg  picked 
up  the  periodical  that  he  had  been  reading  and 
resumed  his  study  of  a  chess  problem,  while 
Solly,  chagrined,  went  to  another  table  and 
waited  for  his  chess-instructor.  As  soon  as 
Eogofsky  entered  the  cafe  Solly  beckoned  to 
him  and  asked  him  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee. 

" Listen,"  he  said.  "Did  you  ever  play  with 
Mr.  Greenberg,  over  there?" 

"Oh,  sure.  Lots  of  times,"  answered  Ro- 
gofsky. 

"Now  suppose  I  make  an  arrangement  with 
you.  How  long  would  it  take  you  to  teach  me 
to  play  chess  so  that  I  could  beat  him?" 

"Me?"  asked  Eogofsky,  grinning.  "About 
ten  million  years.  He  is  the  best  player  around 
here.  He  can  give  me  a  queen  and  beat  me." 

Solly  turned  and  gazed  at  Greenberg  with 


238          With  the  Best  Intention 

renewed  interest.  It  had  already  dawned  upon 
him  that  the  kind  of  brains  required  to  play 
chess  were  not  fed  on  the  Talmud.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  admired  Green- 
berg. 

"Can't  anybody  beat  him?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.  Some  of  those  crack  players 
they've  got  at  the  Montefiore  Chess  Club.  But 
it  takes  a  professional  to  do  it.  He 's  too  strong 
for  the  amateurs. " 

"Thanks,"  said  Solly.  Kogofsky  toyed  with 
his  empty  cup  and  looked  pleadingly  at  Solly, 
but  Solly  rose  and  left  the  place.  He  was 
through  with  Bogofsky. 

He  spent  half  an  hour  walking  the  streets, 
thinking.  What  his  thoughts  were  I  do  not 
know.  From  the  smile  upon  his  face  that  made 
passers-by  look  at  him  in  amazement  and  won- 
der if  he  were  out  of  his  mind  it  is  fair  to  judge 
that  he  was  not  thinking  of  the  Talmud. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  Talmud  to  smile  about. 
He  came  to  a  sudden  stop  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. Then  he  hastened  to  the  little  cafe  on 
upper  Second  Avenue  where  the  Montefiore 
Chess  Club  met  and  asked  one  of  the  waiters, 

"Who  is  the  best  player  in  the  Montefiore 
Chess  Club?" 


Knight  Takes  Queen  239 

"Mr.  Nemirow,  the  gentleman  with  the  grey 
beard  sitting  over  there,"  was  the  answer. 

Solly  looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 
saw  an  amiable-looking  elderly  man  sipping  a 
cup  of  coffee.  There  seems  to  be  an  affinity  be- 
tween chess  and  coffee,  which  I  also  submit  to 
the  cogitation  of  any  one  sufficiently  interested 
in  the  matter  to  cogitate  upon  it. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Nemirow,  the  great  chess- 
player?" asked  Solly,  in  the  most  ingratiating 
tone  he  could  assume. 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  pleasant  smile. 
"At  your  service,'*  he  said.  "Do  you  wish  to 
play  a  game?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!"  said  Solly  hastily.    "I- 
I  wanted  to — do  you  happen  to  know  Mr.  Green- 
berg — Mr.    Abraham    Greenberg,    the    chess- 
player?" 

Mr.  Nemirow  shook  his  head.  "I'm  sorry. 
I  haven't  the  pleasure,"  he  said. 

"That's  fine,"  said  Solly,  seating  himself  op- 
posite the  chess-player.  "Now,  Mr.  Nerairow, 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  great  favour. 
You  see — I — well,  you  were  young  yourself 
once,  weren't  you?" 

Mr.  Nemirow  laid  down  the  spoon  that  he 
had  been  toying  with,  folded  his  arms  across 


240          With  the  Best  Intention 

• 

Ms  breast,  and  gazed  upon  Solly  with  great  in- 
terest. "Yes,"  he  said,  smiling,  "you  are  per- 
fectly right.  I  was  born  young. ' ' 

Then  they  both  laughed,  and  there  was  some- 
thing in  Solly's  laugh  that  made  Mr.  Nemirow 
lean  forward  and  say: 

alf  I  can  do  anything  for  you  it  would  really 
please  me.  What  is  on  your  mind?" 

Solly,  as  rapidly  as  he  could,  told  all  about 
himself,  told  the  story  of  how  he  had  met  Jose- 
phine and  how  obdurate  her  father  was  in  his 
opposition  to  their  marriage.  He  then  de- 
scribed his  efforts  to  learn  the  game  of  chess. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "I  thought  if  I  could 
learn  to  be  a  good  player  I'd  say  to  him  in  an 
offhand  way:  'Mr.  Greenberg,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  We'll  play  a  game  of  chess,  and 
if  I  win  you'll  let  me  marry  Josephine,  and 
we'll  say  no  more  about  it.  But  if  you  win  I'll 
go  out  to  Chicago  and  finish  my  studies  out 
there,  and  I'll  never  ask  you  again.'  You  see, 
he  beat  me  the  first  game  I  played  with  him, 
and  I  know  he  'd  feel  so  sure  of  beating  me  again 
that  he  would  be  willing  to  get  rid  of  me  in  such 
an  easy  way.  But  they  say  he's  a  terribly 
strong  player,  and  I  know  I  couldn't  beat  him 
if  I  tried  a  thousand  years.  So  I  want  to  get 


Knight  Takes  Queen  241 

Borne  one  to  help  me  out.  If — if  I  could  get  a 
really  first-class  player  to  come  and  sit  in  a 
corner  of  the  cafe  and  tell  me  what  moves  to 
make,  Mr.  Greenberg  wouldn't  know  anything 
about  it  and  I  could  win  the  game.  He  never 
would  suspect  anything,  and  in  the  afternoon 
there 's  hardly  anybody  in  the  place,  so  that  no- 
body else  would  notice  anything.  I  know  just 
how  to  arrange  it.  There 's  a  waiter  there  who 's 
a  friend  of  mine,  and  he  could  carry  the  moves 
back  and  forth.  And — and — " 

Here  Solly  paused  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  had  nothing  further  to  say,  and  gazed  ea- 
gerly at  the  face  of  Mr.  Nemirow.  The  chess- 
player seemed  to  be  trying  to  swallow  some- 
thing. 

"You  are  studying  to  be  a  rabbi?"  he  finally 
said.  Solly  grinned,  and  the  next  moment  Mr. 
.Nemirow  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  that 
seemed  to  fill  the  entire  room.  "Ha!  Ha! 
Ha!"  he  cried.  "That's  the  richest  thing  I 
ever  heard  of  in  all  my  life.  And  from  a  rab- 
binical student !  Ha !  Ha !  I  don 't  think  I  '11 
ever  get  over  it !  And  after  you  Ve  bamboozled 
the  old  man  you'll  marry  his  daughter.  Ho! 
Ho!  Ho!  That's  rich!" 

He  paused  to  wipe  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 


242          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Well,  my  son,"  he  said,  "if  you're  looking 
for  a  chess-player  who's  foolish  and  criminal 
enough  to  go  into  such  a  scheme  you've  found 
him.  I  'd  do  it  if  I  went  to  prison  for  it,  if  only 
for  the  joke."  And  he  went  off  into  another 
spasm  of  laughter. 

During  the  long  chat  that  followed,  Solly  and 
Mr.  Nemirow  became  well  acquainted  with  each 
other.  There  was  something  engaging  in  the 
younger  man's  frankness  that  appealed  to  the 
chess-player. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  Solly  explained,  "I 
haven't  the  faintest  idea  of  being  a  rabbi.  All 
that  my  uncle  said  in  his  will  was  that  I  should 
study  for  it  and  become  a  rabbi.  After  I've 
studied  for  it  and  have  been  a  rabbi  for  half 
an  hour  I  get  the  money  he  left,  and  then  I'm 
going  into  business.  But  if  I  tell  that  to  my 
mother  now  she'd  make  an  awful  fuss.  I 
wanted  to  explain  it  all  to  Mr.  Greenberg,  but 
he  never  would  give  me  a  chance.  I  guess  he 
thinks  I'm  an  awful  fool." 

Mr.  Nemirow  even  went  so  far  as  to  play  a 
game  of  chess  with  Solly,  but  after  a  few  moves 
said: 

"I  guess  you're  right.  You'll  never  make  a 
chess-player.  You  have  brains  enough,  but  it 


Knight  Takes  Queen  243 

takes  a  special  kind  of  chess-brains  to  play 
chess.'* 

Solly  returned  to  the  Orient  Cafe  and  took 
Lapidowitz  aside.  He  explained  the  situation 
to  him  without,  however,  telling  him  the  reason 
for  playing  such  a  joke  on  Greenberg.  It  ap- 
pealed strongly  to  Lapidowitz 's  sense  of 
humour,  and  he  agreed  heartily  to  fulfil  his  part. 

When  Greenberg  appeared  at  the  cafe  on  the 
following  day,  there  were  but  two  customers  in 
the  place.  One  was  Solly  Kafka,  sitting  on  the 
leather  settee  against  the  wall  in  Greenberg 's 
favourite  seat,  and  the  other  was  a  grey-bearded 
stranger  sitting  in  another  angle  of  the  room, 
apparently  deeply  immersed  in  a  book  that  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

Greenberg,  annoyed  at  finding  another  in  the 
seat  that  he  had  come  to  look  upon  as  pecul- 
iarly his  own,  was  looking  around  the  room  to 
find  a  comfortable  place  when  Solly  called  to 
him, 

"Won't  you  play  a  game  of  chess  with  me, 
Mr.  Greenberg?" 

"But  you  can't  play,"  said  Greenberg,  ap- 
proaching Solly's  table,  nevertheless.  A  good 
chess-player,  you  see,  hates  to  play  with  a 
weaker  opponent,  but  would  rather  play  with 


244          With  the  Best  Intention 

any  opponent  than  not  play  at  all.  "You  play 
like  a — like  a  rabbi,"  he  went  on,  seating  him- 
self opposite  Solly. 

"Mr.  Greenberg,"  said  Solly  solemnly,  "I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  play  you  one  game  of 
chess,  and  if  you  win  I'm  going  out  to  Chicago, 
and  I'll  never  ask  you  for  Josephine  again. 
But  if  you  lose  you  will  let  us  get  married  next 
week  and  say  no  more  about  it.  That's  fair, 
isn't  it?  I  know  you're  a  good  player,  but  I've 
been  thinking  a  lot  about  chess  since  we  played, 
and  I  think  you're  going  to  lose." 

Greenberg,  who  had  been  staring  at  Solly 
over  the  rim  of  his  spectacles,  now  turned  and 
looked  around  the  room  as  if  seeking  a  witness 
to  Solly's  sudden  insanity.  There  was  no  one 
in  sight,  however,  except  Lapidowitz,  the  waiter. 
Then  Greenberg  stroked  his  chin  and  gazed  at 
Solly. 

"I  think — "  he  began,  and  paused.  Then  a 
twinkle  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  smiled. 
"Come,"  he  said,  "I  agree.  I  always  thought 
you  were  a  foolish  young  man.  But  if  you  win 
you  can  marry  Josie.  If  not,  I  never  want  to 
see  you  again." 

Lapidowitz,  who  had  come  close  to  the  table, 


Knight  Takes  Queen  245 

overheard  him  and  his  mouth  opened  wide.  He 
looked  at  Solly  with  the  utmost  admiration. 

"So  this  was  the  object  of  the  joke!"  he 
thought.  "The  young  man  wants  to  marry 
Greenberg 's  daughter.  Oh,  ho !  What  a  smart 
young  man  he  must  be!" 

Lapidowitz  admired  smartness  above  all 
other  human  qualities.  He  brought  a  set  of 
chess-men  and  helped  to  set  them  up.  Then, 
when  Greenberg  had  made  a  couple  of  moves, 
Lapidowitz  stole  around  the  angle  of  the  wall 
and  whispered  to  the  grey-bearded  stranger 
who  appeared  to  be  studying  the  contents  of  a 
book.  The  stranger  laid  down  his  book,  re- 
vealing an  opened  pocket  chess-board  held  be- 
tween its  pages,  and  wrote  upon  a  slate, 

"KttoKBS." 

Lapidowitz  took  the  slate  and,  sauntering  to- 
ward the  table  at  which  Solly  and  Greenberg 
were  playing,  held  it  aloft.  Solly  looked  up, 
saw  it,  and  promptly  made  his  move.  Then 
Lapidowitz  approached  nearer  to  the  table  and 
waited  for  Greenberg  to  move.  When  Green- 
berg had  moved,  Lapidowitz  went  through  the 
same  performance.  Greenberg  was  so  absorbed 


246          With  the  Best  Intention 

in  the  game  that  for  a  long  time  he  did  not  take 
his  eyes  from  the  board.  Then,  turning  sud- 
denly, and  beholding  Lapidowitz,  slate  in  hand, 
eagerly  watching  the  game,  he  said  to  the 
waiter, 

" Interested  in  chess?" 

"Terribly!"  answered  Lapidowitz,  una- 
bashed. "I  would  rather  see  a  good  game  of 
chess  than  eat." 

The  game  rapidly  developed  a  most  interest- 
ing situation,  and  Greenberg,  with  his  hand  upon 
his  chin,  nodded  a  great  many  times,  his  eyes 
never  leaving  the  board. 

"You  play  a  strong  game,  Solly,"  lie  said 
musingly.  Solly's  heart  leaped  with  joy. 
Greenberg  had  never  addressed  him  so  inti- 
mately before.  As  far  as  the  game  was  con- 
cerned he  was  all  at  sea.  Like  the  third  as- 
sistant deputy  clerk  in  the  prime  minister's  of- 
fice he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the  orders  he  was 
mechanically  executing  were,  each  one  of  them, 
part  of  some  big  scheme,  but  what  that  scheme 
was  he  had  not  the  remotest  idea. 

The  game  had  reached  a  critical  point. 
Greenberg,  after  long  deliberation,  had  made 
his  move,  and  Lapidowitz  had  carried  it  around 
the  angle  of  the  room.  This  time  the  waiter 


Lapidowitz  held  aloft  his  slate.     Solly  read:     "The  $5  1  ast  you 
for    I   need   bad.     Kant  you   slip   it  in   my   hand?" 


Knight  Takes  Queen  247 

was  gone  longer  than  usual,  and  Solly,  who  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  of  how  the  game  stood,  be- 
gan to  worry.  Supposing  that,  after  all,  Green- 
berg  should  win !  He  had  pledged  his  word  to 
go  to  Chicago  and  never  ask  for  Josephine's 
hand  again.  The  perspiration  stood  upon 
Solly's  brow.  And  at  that  moment  Lapidowitz 
reappeared  and  held  aloft  his  slate,  upon  which, 
written  in  Lapidowitz 's  best  English,  Solly 
read: 

The  $5  I  ast  you  for  I  need  bad.  Kant  you  slip  it 
in  my  hand  ? 

If  the  complete  history  of  human  thought  is 
ever  written  I  warrant  that  we  will  all  be  sur- 
prised to  find  how  strongly  the  great  majority 
of  the  race  have,  at  various  times,  been  tempted 
to  commit  murder.  The  temptation  to  commit 
this  crime  comes  to  most  of  us  under  a  provoca- 
tion which,  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  would  appear 
slight,  yet  which,  to  us,  considering  the  time  and 
the  place  and  the  circumstances,  is  a  greater 
provocation  than  any  which  the  law  would  rec- 
ognise with  leniency.  The  consequences  of  this 
terrible  crime  did  not  occur  to  Solly  Kafka  at 
this  moment.  His  mind  was  too  fully  occupied 
with  methods  of  accomplishing  it.  He  looked 


248          With  the  Best  Intention 

at  his  opponent.  Greenberg,  apparently  in  a 
deep  study,  had  taken  his  eyes  from  the  chess- 
board and  was  gazing  abstractedly  at  a  picture 
of  George  Washington  that  hung  on  the  wall 
over  Solly's  head. 

" Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Solly,  rising. 
"I  have  to  telephone."  And,  to  Lapidowitz, 
"Come  with  me,  waiter,  and  show  me  where  the 
telephone  is." 

Lapidowitz  led  the  way  around  the  angle  of 
the  room  to  the  desk  of  the  cafe  As  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  sight  of  Greenberg,  Solly 
seized  Lapidowitz  by  the  arm  and  led  him  into 
a  rear  room. 

* '  This  won 't  do, ' '  he  said.  ' '  All  my  money  is 
in  silver,  and  Greenberg  will  hear  it  jingle. 
Where  can  we  go  so  that  nobody  will  hear  a 
sound?" 

Lapidowitz  smiled.  "Come  with  me,"  he 
whispered.  He  led  Solly  out  into  a  hallway  and 
down  a  flight  of  steps  into  the  cellar  of  the 
building. 

"This  will  do,"  said  Solly.  At  one  and  the 
same  time  his  right  hand  clutched  the  schnorrer 
by  the  throat  and  his  left  leg  threw  the  schnorrer 
to  the  ground.  Solly  prefaced  his  remarks  with 
a  few  very  un-rabbinical  words. 


Knight  Takes  Queen  249 

"Now,"  he  said,  "you'll  swear  on  the  Torah 
and  the  Talmud  to  carry  out  your  promise  and 
keep  your  mouth  shut." 

Lapidowitz,  gasping  for  breath,  swore. 

"Hurry  up  and  get  that  next  move,"  said 
Solly,  releasing  him  and  running  up  the  stairs. 
A  few  minutes  later  Lapidowitz  stood  behind 
Greenberg's  back  holding  up  a  slate  upon  which 
Solly  read : 

Q  to  R4  only  for  to-nite  I  promist.  To-morro  I  get 
evin. 

Solly,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  moved  his  queen 
to  rook's  fourth,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Green- 
berg  arose. 

"I  give  up,"  he  said.  "You  play  a  fine 
game,  Solly.  Come  around  to-morrow  night 
and  see  Josie.  You  are  a  citizen,  ain't 
you ! ' ' 

"Sure  I  am,"  said  Solly,  in  surprise.  "I 
was  born  here. ' ' 

Greenberg  pointed  to  the  picture  of  George 
Washington  and  grinned.  "He  wasn't  a 
rabbi,"  he  said.  "Just  a  good  citizen.  Good 
afternoon!" 

The  grey-bearded  stranger  who  sat  in  the 
cafe  seemed  immersed  in  his  book,  and  Lapido- 


250          With  the  Best  Intention 

witz  was  waiting  upon  a  new  customer  who  had 
arrived.    Solly  left  the  place  walking  on  air. 

When  he  called  upon  Josie  the  following 
night,  her  father  was  not  at  home.  Inasmuch 
as  this  is  not  a  real  love  story  there  is  no  need 
of  going  into  the  details  of  what  took  place  that 
evening  excepting  to  remark  that  everything 
was  ALL  EIGHT.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
wedding  should  take  place  five  days  later. 
When  Solly  returned  to  his  home  that  night,  he 
found  a  letter  from  Lapidowitz. 

"I  kept  my  promis,"  it  ran,  "and  nobody  can 
giv  me  a  punch  for  nothing.  Mister  Greenberg 
is  my  friend  and  so  long  as  I  kno  every-thing 
about  you  marrij  and  the  gaim  of  ches  I  kno 
what  is  my  dooty.  I  wont  sine  my  name  but 
you  kno  who  is  it." 

If  Solly  Kafka  had  ever  had  any  doubt  as 
the  rabbinate  being  his  vocation  it  surely  must 
have  been  dispelled  at  that  moment.  There 
was  not  a  single  one  of  the  thousand  schemes  of 
punishment  that  he  thought  of  inflicting  upon 
Lapidowitz  that  the  poorest  rabbi  would  not 
have  blushed  at.  But  all  these  schemes  Solly 
was  forced  to  abandon,  for  they  were  imprac- 
ticable, and  the  danger  of  his  telling  Greenberg 
the  true  story  of  the  joke  that  had  been  played 


Knight  Takes  Queen  251 

upon  him  was  exceedingly  real  and  intensely 
practicable.  For  nearly  two  hours  Solly  re- 
volved the  situation  in  his  mind.  And  then, 
with  a  sweet  smile,  he  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  he  called  Lapidowitz  on  the 
telephone.  "Listen,"  he  said.  "Never  mind 
about  that  Greenberg  business.  I  have  a  big 
scheme,  and  there 's  a  chance  for  me  to  do  some- 
thing for  you.  I  need  some  one  to  help  me,  and 
I  want  to  give  you  the  first  chance.  Ask  your 
boss  for  a  week  off.  Meet  me  at  the  Grand 
Central  station  to-night  and  bring  a  satchel 
with  you.  We're  going  to  Chicago.  What! 
Never  mind  about  the  money.  I  '11  pay  all  your 
expenses.  I'm  in  a  hurry  now.  I've  got  to  go 
to  the  bank." 

As  a  matter  of  honest  fact,  Solly  did  go  to 
the  bank.  And  that  night  he  met  Lapidowitz  at 
the  station,  purchased  two  tickets  and  they  left 
on  the  train  for  Chicago.  They  dined  on  the 
train.  The  story  that  Solly  told  Lapidowitz  I 
am  actually  ashamed  to  repeat,  but  Lapidowitz 
swallowed  every  word  of  it.  He  retired  to  his 
berth  that  night  a  happy  man,  and  dreamed 
wonderful  dreams.  The  next  morning  the 
porter  handed  him  a  letter. 

'  *  Dear  friend  Lapidowitz, ' '  it  began.    ' '  I  had 


252          With  the  Best  Intention 

to  get  off  at  Rochester  unexpectedly.  As  soon 
as  you  get  to  Chicago  go  to  Meyer's  Kosher  Ho- 
tel and  tell  Mr.  Meyer  who  you  are.  I  tele- 
graphed him  to  take  care  of  you.  Don't  ask 
him  for  any  money.  I'll  either  come  out  or 
telegraph  you  in  three  or  four  days.  Don't 
worry.  Our  scheme  is  all  right.  Your  old 
friend,  Solly." 

It  was  a  quiet  wedding,  and  the  mother  of 
the  hride  and  the  mother  of  the  groom  cried 
to  their  hearts'  content.  While  the  rabhi  was 
congratulating  the  hride,  her  father  took  Solly 
into  an  adjoining  room. 

"How  soon  are  you  going  into  business?"  he 
asked. 

"As  soon  as  I  am  a  rabbi,"  said  Solly,  grin- 
ning. 

Greenberg  smiled  and  nodded.  "I  thought 
so,"  he  said.  "I  knew  you  were  too  smart  to 
be  a  rabbi.  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  mat- 
ter with  that  fellow  Lapidowitz?"  And  he 
handed  Solly  a  telegram: 

Stop  wedding  till  I  get  back  Solly  cheeted  in  ches 
somebody  else  plade  game  will  tel  everything  tele- 
graph railroade  fare.  Lapidowitz. 


Knight  Takes  Queen  253 

Solly  bit  his  lip.  "He  must  be  crazy,"  he 
said.  " Anyway,  it's  too  late  to  stop  the  wed- 
ding." He  looked  at  Greenberg  defiantly. 

Greenberg  smiled  and  peered  at  him  over  the 
edge  of  his  spectacles.  "Sure  it  is,"  he  said. 
"You  don't  think  I'd  stop  a  wedding  for  La- 
pidowitz,  anyway,  do  you?" 

Solly  gazed  at  him  expectantly.  There  was 
something  in  Greenberg 's  tone  that  made  him 
uneasy. 

"You  wouldn't  believe  Lapidowitz  anyway, 
would  you!"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  But  before  you  go  on  your 
honeymoon,  Solly,  I  wish  you  would  do  me  one 
favour. ' ' 

"Anything  in  the  world.  Another  game  of 
chess  ? ' '  And  Solly  grinned. 

Greenberg  frowned.  "Not  with  you,  but 
your  friend  who  played  that  game." 

Solly's  mouth  opened  wide  and,  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  had  the  sensation  that  is  said  to  ac- 
company lockjaw.  "Did  Lapidowitz — "  he  be- 
gan, but  his  father-in-law  smiled. 

"Next  time  you  try  to  be  so  smart  don't  have 
the  other  man  looking  at  a  picture  of  George 
Washington  which  is  just  the  same  as  a  look- 


254          With  the  Best  Intention 

ing-glass.  I  saw  that  schnorrer  hold  up  the 
slate  and  read  the  next  move  even  hefore  you 
did.  My !  That  fellow  is  a  fine  player ! ' ' 

"But  how — why — "  Solly's  voice  tapered  off 
into  an  indistinct  gurgle. 

"Why  I  didn't  say  anything?  You  dear 
hoy !  Any  man  what  is  smart  enough  for  such 
a  trick  is  too  smart  to  be  a  rabbi." 


XIII 

Klein's  Financial  System 

IP  you  delve  long  enough  into  the  literature 
of  ancient  Greece  you  will  probably  come 
across  this  proverb, 

"When  a  woman  dominates  a  man,  the  gods 
laugh!" 

I  merely  remember  reading  this  quotation 
somewhere,  and  deeply  regret  that  I  cannot 
place  it  more  accurately.  If  it  is  not  in  Grecian 
literature  it  may  be  in  Persian  literature  or 
Aramaic  or  Swedish.  I  am  quite  sure  that  it 
is  not  in  the  Talmud,  because  most  of  the  au- 
thors of  the  Talmud  were  married  men.  In 
these  days  of  feminine  unrest  this  quotation 
might,  possibly,  present  interesting  thoughts 
for  discussion  as,  for  instance.  Who  cares 
whether  the  gods  laugh  or  not!  Besides  which, 
as  every  one  knows,  the  relation  of  the  sexes 
has  undergone  a  complete  change.  The  old 
idea  of  man  being  the  dominant,  masterful  crea- 
ture and  woman  being  selected  by  him  to  ad- 

255 


256          With  the  Best  Intention 

minister  to  his  pleasure  and  comfort  has  been 
so  thoroughly  exploded  that  you  could  hardly 
find  a  fragment  of  it.  The  New  Thought,  the 
Suffrage  Movement,  the  Bull  Moose  platform, 
and  the  Zeitgeist  have  had  a  tremendous  effect 
upon  the  laws  of  nature,  and  the  old  order  of 
things  has  been  changed. 

I  would  like  exceedingly  to  dwell  upon  this 
theme  and,  if  possible,  convert  those  who  still 
believe  in  the  old-fashioned  order  of  the  uni- 
verse, but  the  limits  of  this  story  do  not  offer 
much  latitude  for  speculative  philosophy,  and 
the  reader  will  have  to  philosophise  for  him- 
self. Here,  however,  is  a  story  that  may  throw 
some  light  upon  the  matter: 

Our  hero's  name  is  Gottlieb  Klein.  He  was 
a  garment-cutter  employed  by  Shiras  on  Riv- 
ington  Street,  and  he  received  eighteen  dollars 
each  week  for  his  services.  This,  you  must  re- 
member, was  in  the  old  days,  before  they  had 
unions  and  when  the  cost  of  living  was  not  quite 
so  high  as  it  is  to-day.  Gottlieb  Klein  was 
married.  By  being  married,  I  mean  that  he 
had  once  stood  before  a  rabbi  with  a  woman  at 
his  side  and  had  promised  to  take  the  woman 
to  wife  for  better  or  for  worse.  From  that 


Klein's  Financial  System         257 

moment  his  responsibility  in  the  matter  ended, 
and  Mrs.  Gottlieb  Klein  took  charge  of  the  situa- 
tion. Whether  the  gods  laughed  or  not,  the  ut- 
most credit  must  be  given  to  Mrs.  Klein  for  the 
skill  with  which  she  managed  the  affair.  Dur- 
ing the  time  that  Klein  worked  each  day  he  was 
his  own  master — to  the  extent,  at  least,  of  regu- 
lating his  own  mind. 

This,  of  course,  did  not  include  the  luncheon- 
hour  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  because  Mrs. 
Klein  always  brought  her  husband  his  lunch 
and  sat  with  him  in  the  shop  while  he  ate  it. 
But  at  all  other  times  his  conduct  was  care- 
fully regulated  by  his  wife.  She  told  him  what 
shirt  to  wear,  what  to  read,  what  people  to 
invite  to  their  home,  and  what  people  to. 
avoid.  It  never  occurred  to  Klein  to  resist. 
In  addition  to  his  inherent  timidity,  which  made 
him  dread  an  explosion  of  his  wife's  temper  as 
most  men  dread  having  their  left  leg  cut  off, 
he  possessed  a  very  amiable  disposition  and  was 
as  eager  to  submit  to  his  wife  of  his  own  voli- 
tion as  through  fear  of  her  f orcefulness.  All  of 
which,  you  see,  made  it  an  ideal  union. 

The  fundamental  law  of  the  household  was 
that  Klein  must  bring  his  wife  his  weekly  wages 


258          .With  the  Best  Intention 

as  soon  as  he  received  them.  In  addition  to 
being  queen  of  the  realm,  Mrs.  Klein  was 
chancellor  of  the  exchequer. 

As  they  lived  only  a  few  blocks  from  the  fac- 
tory in  which  Klein  worked  he  had  no  need  of 
car-fare.  And  as  his  wife  brought  his  noonday 
meal,  and  purchased  all  his  clothes  and  man- 
aged all  the  affairs  of  the  household  and  did  not 
permit  her  husband  to  drink  or  smoke,  it  would 
have  been  exceedingly  difficult  for  Klein  to  de- 
vise an  excuse  for  withholding  one  cent  of  his 
wages.  He  actually  had  no  use  for  money. 
This,  by  the  way,  is  an  argument  in  favour  of 
the  New  Thought  that  never  occurred  to  me  be- 
fore. 

The  existence  of  the  Kleins  had  oeen  run- 
ning along  serenely  in  this  channel  for  ten 
years  when  Gottlieb  Klein  took  one  step  from 
the  beaten  path  of  his  life.  Other  men  have  oc- 
casionally deviated  from  the  sensible  routine 
of  life  and  have  escaped  all  consequences  save, 
perhaps,  a  twinge  of  remorse.  The  conse- 
quences of  Klein's  misstep,  however,  were  so 
appalling  that  I  hope  all  men  who  read  this 
will  take  the  lesson  to  heart  and  shun,  forever, 
the  primrose  path. 

A  consignment  of  cloth  which  had  been  ex- 


Klein's  Financial  System          259 

pected  failed  to  arrive  on  time,  and  at  four 
o'clock  011  a  Friday  afternoon  Shiras's  cutters 
found  themselves  idle.  Being  in  good  humour 
that  day,  Shiras  paid  the  men  and  let  them  go, 
saying,  with  a  smile, 

"I  give  you  the  next  three  hours  for  a  pres- 
ent." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  years  that  Klein  had 
found  himself  free  for  three  hours,  and  he  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  what  to  do.  Instinctively 
he  started  to  walk  home.  Mandelbaum,  a  fel- 
low cutter,  walked  with  him  a  few  blocks  and 
then  suggested  that  they  go  to  a  coffee-house 
for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  cake.  Klein  hesi- 
tated, whereat  Mandelbaum  said  good-natur- 
edly: 

"Nu,  only  ten  cents!  What  does  it  matter? 
I  will  treat." 

There  were  many  people  in  the  coffee-house 
whom  Klein  knew,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the 
place  filled  him  with  a  pleasurable  excitement 
that  he  had  not  experienced  in  many  a  day. 
They  seated  themselves  at  a  table  where  a  num- 
ber of  men  were  playing  with  dice.  Klein 
watched  the  game  with  interest — the  stakes 
were  rather  high — and  was  fascinated  to  see 
one  of  the  players — a  stout,  black-bearded  chap 


260          With  the  Best  Intention 

— winning  at  every  throw.  Mandelbaum 
nudged  him  and  whispered, 

"He's  winning  now,  hut  I'll  het  his  luck  will 
change  and  he'll  lose." 

Surely  enough,  the  tide  of  fortune  soon  be- 
gan to  turn,  and  one  by  one  the  other  players 
recouped  their  losses  and  began  to  win.  But 
with  the  exception  of  the  black-bearded  man  the 
players  were  not  very  courageous,  for,  as  soon 
as  each  had  won  a  few  dollars,  he  ceased  play- 
ing. The  game  seemed  almost  at  an  end. 
Blackbeard  was  now  the  only  loser,  and,  one 
after  another,  he  asked  them  if  they  would  not 
throw  once  more. 

"I'll  throw  anybody  for  ten  dollars!"  he 
said.  "Just  one  throw  out  of  the  box." 

"I'll  throw!"  cried  Mandelbaum  eagerly. 
The  man  handed  him  the  dice-box,  and  Mandel- 
baum threw.  He  was  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, and  Klein,  looking  over  his  shoulder  and 
marvelling  at  his  friend's  recklessness,  was 
hardly  less  excited.  Mandelbaum  threw  four 
aces.  His  opponent,  without  a  word,  threw  a 
pair  of  sixes,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  handed 
Mandelbaum  ten  dollars. 

"Once  more?"  he  asked. 

Mandelbaum  shook  his  head.    "You  try  it!" 


It   was  a   pair  of  twos.     "That  looks  easy,"  said  Tm  opponent, 
and  calmly  threw  a  pair  of  threes 


Klein's  Financial  System          261 

lie  whispered  eagerly,  to  Klein.  ' '  His  luck  has 
changed,  and  he's  sure  to  lose." 

The  man  heard  it  and  turned  to  Klein  with 
a  smile.  "Come  on!"  he  said.  "I'm  a  good 
sport.  Win  or  lose  is  all  the  same  to  me."  He 
held  out  the  dice-box  to  Klein.  "Just  one 
throw  for  ten  dollars ! "  he  said  coaxingly. 

Whether  the  coffee  had  gone  to  Klein's  head, 
whether  the  sight  of  money  changing  hands  so 
rapidly  had  intoxicated  him,  whether  it  was  the 
thought  of  easy  gain  that  bewildered  his  senses, 
or  whether  it  was  merely  a  sudden  awakening 
of  the  gambling  instinct  which  lies  hidden  some- 
where in  every  man's  nature,  are  questions  that 
I  doubt  if  Socrates  himself  could  positively  an- 
swer. I  only  know  that  Gottlieb  Klein  took  the 
box  in  his  trembling  hand  and,  without  uttering 
a  word,  threw  the  dice  upon  the  table.  And 
then  he  stared  at  what  he  had  thrown,  and  a 
cold  sweat  suddenly  broke  out  upon  his  fore- 
head. It  was  a  pair  of  twos. 

"That  looks  easy!"  said  his  opponent,  and 
calmly  threw  a  pair  of  threes. 

"Too  bad!"  exclaimed  Mandelbaum. 

"Try  again?"  asked  the  winner. 

It  was  about  fifteen  minutes  past  four  on  that 
Friday  afternoon  that  it  all  happened.  Two 


262          With  the  Best  Intention 

hours  later  Gottlieb  Klein  recovered  conscious- 
ness and  found  that  he  was  walking  the 
streets  without  any  definite  destination  in  mind. 
His  memory  of  what  had  happened  since  he  left 
the  shop  was  a  blinding  chaos  that,  somehow  or 
other,  seemed  full  of  fireworks.  He  remem- 
bered distinctly  handing  a  man  ten  dollars  of 
his  wages:  all  else  was  confused.  It  was  the 
sudden  recollection  that  the  ten  dollars  must 
be  replaced  that  brought  him  down  to  earth 
again.  And  then  Gottlieb  Klein  heaved  a  long, 
long  sigh. 

"Oy!  Oy!  Oy!"  he  moaned.  "Oy!  Oy! 
Oy!" 

"Oy"  doesn't  mean  anything  in  particular, 
and  yet  it  expressed  his  feelings  more  accurately 
than  all  the  vocabulary  of  Dante's  Inferno. 
The  thought  of  telling  his  wife  about  it  never 
for  an  instant  occurred  to  him.  That  idea  was 
so  entirely  and  hopelessly  out  of  the  question 
that  unless  some  one  had  suggested  it  to  him,  it 
would  not  have  come  to  his  mind  had  he  de- 
liberated over  the  matter  for  a  year.  He  sud- 
denly found  himself  in  front  of  the  grocer's 
store  where  his  wife  purchased  the  family  veg- 
etables. Horowitz,  the  grocer  himself,  stood 
in  the  doorway,  smiling  cheerfully. 


Klein's  Financial  System          263 

"Horowitz,"  he  said — and  no  man  ever  went 
to  his  death  more  heroically — "lend  me  ten  dol- 
lars, will  you?  I'll  give  it  back  in  a  few  days." 

'  *  Sure ! ' '  said  Horowitz. 

A  few  minutes  after  seven  o'clock — the  usual 
time  of  his  home-coming — Klein  handed  his 
wife  eighteen  dollars. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "You 
ain  't  looking  well. ' ' 

It  was  Klein's  last  chance  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  the  whole  affair  without  entering  upon 
the  path  of  deception. 

* '  I — I  have  a  headache ! "  he  replied — and  the 
last  chance  was  gone.  In  the  synagogue  next 
day,  his  mind  could  not  follow  the  service:  it 
was  too  much  engrossed  with  the  greatest  prob- 
lem that  had  ever  confronted  it.  How  was  he 
going  to  repay  those  ten  dollars?  To  take  the 
money  out  of  his  salary  was  impossible,  as  his 
wife  would  know  of  it.  To  earn  ten  dollars  out- 
side the  sphere  of  his  regular  work  was  out  of 
the  question:  he  would  not  have  known  how  to 
begin.  Klein  sighed.  Klein  sighed  a  great 
many  times  that  day  and  the  next  and  the  next, 
for  the  longer  he  pondered  over  his  situation 
the  more  cause  did  he  find  for  sighing.  On  the 
fourth  day  Horowitz,  the  grocer,  gazed  at  him 


264          With  the  Best  Intention 

with  that  expression  that  borrowers  frequently 
see — or  fancy  they  see — on  the  faces  of  those  to 
whom  they  owe  money. 

"I'll  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Klein,  in  as 
blithe  a  tone  as  he  could  command.  The  next 
morning  he  went  to  Sammis,  the  butcher,  and 
with  the  air  of  being  in  a  tremendous  hurry 
said,  "Can  you  let  me  have  ten  dollars  for  a 
few  days?" 

*  *  Sure ! ' '  said  Sammis.  You  see,  Klein's  rep- 
utation was  good  in  that  neighbourhood,  and, 
having  never  borrowed  money  before,  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  obtaining  so  small  a  loan.  Be- 
sides which,  the  relation  of  Gottlieb  Klein  to  his 
own  household  was  well  known,  and,  curious  as 
the  fact  may  be,  husbands  who  are  dominated 
by  their  wives  have  better  credit  than  their 
more  assertive  brethren.  "With  the  ten  dollars 
that  Klein  borrowed  from  Peter  he  paid  Paul. 
Of  course  he  knew  full  well  that  this  transac- 
tion, instead  of  solving  his  difficulty,  only  pro- 
longed it;  but,  remembering  the  expression  of 
the  grocer's  face,  even  a  postponement  of  the 
fatal  hour  of  reckoning  was  welcome.  For 
three  days  Klein  worried  over  the  matter,  this 
time  with  Sammis,  the  butcher,  as  the  central 
figure  of  his  thoughts,  instead  of  Horowitz. 


Klein's  Financial  System          265 

Then,  when  he  came  home  after  his  day's  work 
his  wife  told  him  that  Sammis  had  called  to  see 
him. 

"What  did  he  want?"  asked  Klein  faintly. 
He  was  sure  that  his  heart  had  stopped  beat- 
ing. 

"He  didn't  say.  He  said  it  wasn't  impor- 
tant." 

"I — I  think  I'll  go  to  see  him  after  supper," 
said  Klein.  As  soon  as  he  had  finished  supper 
Klein  hastened  to  Aarons,  the  shoemaker,  who 
lived  a  few  doors  away. 

"Aarons,"  said  he,  "can  you  lend  me  ten 
dollars  for  a  few  days?" 

"Sure!"  said  Aarons.  Klein  thanked  him 
and  called  upon  Sammis. 

' '  I  was  coming  to  pay  you  to-night,  anyway, ' ' 
he  said.  "Why  did  you  come  to  my  house?" 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Klein,"  replied  the 
butcher,  "but  a  man  came  with  a  bill  that  I  had 
to  pay,  and  I  was  a  little  short.  It's  all  right, 
now.  I  'm  in  no  hurry  for  the  money. ' ' 

But  Klein  insisted  upon  paying  him,  and  then 
took  up  his  burden  of  worry  again,  this  time 
with  Aarons,  the  shoemaker,  as  the  central  fig- 
ure. 

Strangely  enough  this  load  of  worry  seemed 


266          With  the  Best  Intention 

to  be  growing  lighter.  The  fear  of  discovery 
by  his  wife  was  not  so  immediate  now,  and 
while  the  thought  of  the  ten  dollars  that  he 
owed  harassed  him  day  and  night,  it  had  not 
the  same  depressing  effect  upon  his  spirits  as 
the  dread  of  explaining  the  matter  to  Mrs. 
Klein.  Still,  it  was  bad  enough. 

"When  the  time  came  to  pay  Aarons,  Klein 
borrowed  ten  dollars  of  Lazarus,  the  pedlar, 
who  had  a  route  on  Long  Island  and  was  home 
only  on  Fridays  and  Saturdays.  From  Lubar- 
sky,  the  coal-dealer,  he  borrowed  to  pay  Laz- 
arus. From  Rabbi  Eoloff  he  borrowed  to  pay 
Lubarsky.  And  then,  one  fateful  day,  having 
received  a  note  from  the  rabbi  asking  him  when 
it  would  be  convenient  for  him  to  repay  the  ten 
dollars,  as  the  rabbi  had  to  pay  his  rent — and 
finding  himself  utterly  unable  to  think  of  an- 
other soul  whom  he  knew  well  enough  to  ask 
for  a  loan — he  returned  to  Horowitz,  the  grocer, 
of  whom  he  had  borrowed  first  and  who,  re- 
membering how  promptly  Klein  had  repaid  the 
money  before,  lent  it  without  the  slightest  hesi- 
tation. Klein  thus  completed  an  endless  chain 
of  Peters  and  Pauls  of  each  of  whom  he  could 
borrow,  in  turn,  to  pay  the  other.  And  for 


Klein's  Financial  System          267 

seven  months  he  borrowed  and  paid,  borrowed 
and  paid  and  borrowed  again. 

As  a  system  of  finance  this  has,  of  course, 
much  to  recommend  it.  Conducted  upon  a 
higher  plane,  it  might  even  lead  a  man  to  wealth 
and  enable  him,  had  he  financial  genius,  to 
manipulate  great  enterprises.  If  you  borrow 
and  pay  back  promptly,  it  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  borrow  again.  The  drawback, 
however,  is  that  occasionally  you  Strike  a  Snag 
or  miss  a  Cog. 

For  seven  months,  as  I  said,  Gottlieb  Klein 
borrowed  and  paid  in  the  same  circle.  During 
all  this  time  the  thought  of  ten  dollars  was  never 
absent  from  his  mind.  All  day  long,  as  he 
worked,  he  kept  thinking  of  ten  dollars  and 
worrying  lest  he  might  forget  the  proper  rota- 
tion of  his  creditors.  Every  night  he  dreamed 
of  ten  dollars. 

In  his  dreams,  curiously  enough,  he  was  hap- 
piest, for  he  always  found  a  ten-dollar  bill  in 
some  unexpected  place,  or  strangers  stopped 
him  in  the  street  and  gave  him  ten  dollars. 
But  when  he  awoke,  his  problem  was  ever  the 
same.  And  it  might  have  been  the  same  to  this 
day — for,  in  this  system,  time  plays  no  part — if 


268          With  the  Best  Intention 

it  had  not  been  for  a  most  annoying  and  discon- 
certing circumstance. 

Some  philosopher — I  think  it  was  Praxiteles 
of  Milo,  whoever  he  was — said  once  that  bad 
luck  usually  runs  in  a  streak  and  lasts  about 
seven  months,  after  which  it  gets  worse.  Gott- 
lieb Klein's  system  worked  to  perfection  for 
seven  months,  and  then  Slipped  a  Cog.  It  was 
Aarons's  turn  to  lend  him  ten  dollars,  and 
Aarons  had  gone  to  his  cousin's  wedding  and 
would  not  be  home  for  two  days.  And  Lazarus, 
the  pedlar,  who  was  next  on  the  list,  was  cover- 
ing his  Long  Island  route  and  would  not  return 
for  five  days.  It  was  with  considerable  misgiv- 
ing that  Klein  went  to  the  office  of  Lubarsky, 
the  coal-dealer,  for  it  was  less  than  two  weeks 
ago  that  he  had  repaid  him  in  his  turn.  But 
Lubarsky  had  gone  to  Philadelphia,  and  no 
one  in  his  office  knew  when  he  would  return. 
Next  on  the  list  came  Rabbi  Roloff,  and  as  it 
seemed  to  Klein  only  yesterday  that  he  had  paid 
the  rabbi,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  call  upon  him 
again  so  soon. 

And  as  Horowitz,  the  grocer,  who  immedi- 
ately followed  the  rabbi  in  Klein's  order  of  ro- 
tation, was  only  one  removed  from  Sammis, 
who  was  now  due  to  be  repaid,  Horowitz  real- 


Klein's  Financial  System          269 

ised  that  his  system  had  Struck  a  Snag,  and  his 
heart  sank  very  low.  He  could  think  of  no  one 
else.  He  feared  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
rope,  and  the  face  of  his  wife  rose,  spectre- 
like,  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  felt  a  chill 
creep  up  and  down  his  spine.  And  at  this  pro- 
pitious— or,  perhaps,  unpropitious — moment, 
he  came  face  to  face  with  Lapidowitz,  the 
schnorrer. 

" Hello,  Klein!"  cried  the  schnorrer  cheerily. 
"What  makes  you  look  so  glum?" 

"Lapidowitz,"  said  Klein  earnestly,  "I  need 
ten  dollars  for  a  few  days.  Have  you  got  ten 
dollars?" 

Lapidowitz  peered  at  him  intently,  and  then, 
drawing  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  began 
to  count  them.  "Yes,"  he  said,  returning  the 
money  to  his  pocket  "I  got  just  ten  dollars, 
but  I  need  them." 

"Listen,  old  man,"  said  Klein  eagerly.  "If 
you  only  knew — I — I — be  a  good  fellow  and  lend 
them  to  me.  You'll  get  them  back  in  four 
days." 

Lapidowitz  reflected  long  and  intently. 
"Klein,"  he  said  finally,  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  I  don't  exactly  need  the  money  until  four 
days  from  now,  but  then  I'll  need  eleven  dol- 


270          With  the  Best  Intention 

lars.  If  you  promise  to  give  me  a  dollar  for 
interest,  I'll  lend  you  the  money.  You  know  I 
wouldn't  ask  it  if  I  didn't  need  the  money." 

Klein  gasped,  stared  at  Lapidowitz,  sput- 
tered, and  almost  choked.  And  then,  in  the 
calm  tone  of  desperation,  he  said:  "All  right. 
I'll  give  you  back  eleven  dollars." 

"In  four  days?"  asked  the  schnorrer. 

"In  four  days." 

"Swear  it  on  the  Torah!" 

Klein  swore  it  on  the  Torah.  Fifteen  min- 
utes later  he  had  repaid  Sammis.  Half  an 
hour  later,  pretending  that  he  was  not  well,  he 
went  to  bed  and  lay  there  trying  to  figure  out 
what  had  become  of  his  system  and  what  he  was 
to  do  now.  Instead  of  borrowing  ten  dollars 
he  would  now  have  to  borrow  eleven,  because 
to  obtain  the  extra  dollar  from  any  outside 
source  was  as  impossible  as  to  raise  the  ten  dol- 
lars. And  if  he  took  Lapidowitz  into  his  circle 
of  creditors  he  saw  clearly  that  his  indebted- 
ness would  amount  to  one  dollar  each  time  he 
came  to  the  schnorrer.  He  knew  Lapidowitz 
well,  and  knew  that  it  was  no  urgent  need  of 
eleven  dollars  that  had  exacted  that  usurious 
interest. 

And  Gottlieb  Klein 's  mind  worked  and  strug- 


Klein's  Financial  System          271 

gled  over  that  problem  as  it  had  never  exerted 
itself  before.  And  then,  suddenly,  a  cry  burst 
from  his  lips. 

''What  is  it?"  asked  his  wife,  running  into 
the  room. 

Klein  hid  his  face  under  the  coverlet.  "I 
just  had  a  pain,  but  it  went  away ! "  he  mumbled. 
But  there  was  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

The  following  night  he  came  home  with  the 
air  of  a  man  brimming  over  with  news  of  im- 
portance. "What  do  you  think!"  he  cried. 
"We  have  organised  a  Yiddish  Garment  Cut- 
ters' Club!  I'm  the  president.  All  it  costs  is 
a  dollar  a  week,  and  if  anything  happens  to  me 
I  get  a  benefit. ' ' 

"A  benefit!"  said  his  wife.  "What  kind  of 
a  benefit?" 

"It — it — the  club  pays  the  doctor's  bills  and 
the  medicine  and — and  as  soon  as  we  have 
enough  money  in  the  treasury  we  get  paid  while 
we're  sick." 

Mrs.  Klein  had  heard  something  of  benefit  so- 
cieties before  and,  in  a  general  way,  approved 
of  them.  What  she  did  not  approve  of,  how- 
ever, was  the  idea  of  her  husband  taking  a  step 
of  such  importance  without  consulting  her. 
She  told  him  so.  It  took  her  five  minutes  to 


272          -With  the  Best  Intention 

tell  him,  and  at  the  end  of  the  five  minutes 
Klein  knew  positively  and  completely  that  she 
did  not  approve. 

"It  was  Mandelbaum 's  idea,"  he  explained 
lamely.  "I  had  to  join  right  away,  or  else  they 
wouldn't  take  me  in.  Mandelbaum  said,  'Now 
or  never,'  if  I  wanted  to  join.  I  didn't  think 
you  would  object." 

"I  have  my  opinion  of  Mandelbaum!"  said 
his  wife.  "How  long  do  you  have  to  pay  a  dol- 
lar a  week? 

"Oh,  not  long,"  Klein  answered  hastily. 
"Only  about  eleven  or  twelve  weeks.  I  don't 
have  to  pay  as  long  as  the  others  because  I'm 
president ! ' ' 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  matters  of  busi- 
ness, she  either  makes  a  great  success  of  them 
or  a  muddle — there  is  rarely  a  middle  course. 

Fortunately  for  Klein,  his  wife  could  not  ex- 
actly weigh  the  merits  of  this  benefit  society, 
and,  having  given  her  husband  a  piece  of  her 
mind  upon  the  subject,  she  agreed,  reluctantly, 
that  he  was  to  retain  a  dollar  a  week  out  of  his 
wages  in  order  to  pay  his  dues  in  this  new  or- 
ganisation. 

Have  you  ever  heard  the  refrain  of  that  popu- 
lar song, 


Klein's  Financial  System          273 

"Who  took  that  in-jine  off  my  neck?" 

It  expresses — somewhat  inadequately,  to  be 
sure — the  feelings  of  Gottlieb  Klein  when  he 
saw  his  way  out  of  his  difficulty.  At  the  end 
of  four  days  Aarons,  the  shoemaker,  had  re- 
turned, and  Klein  borrowed  ten  dollars  from 
him.  Adding  to  this  the  dollar  he  had  retained 
from  his  wages,  he  repaid  Lapidowitz.  And 
when,  on  the  following  Friday  night,  he  learned 
that  Lazarus  had  returned  from  his  Long  Is- 
land route,  he  approached  him  with  a  dollar  in 
his  hand. 

"Lazarus,  old  man,'*  he  said.  "I'd  like  to 
borrow  nine  dollars  if  you  can  spare  it. ' ' 

Lazarus  handed  him  a  ten-dollar  bill.  "You 
can  have  ten, ' '  he  said.  * '  I  have  no  change. ' ' 

"Take  this  dollar!"  cried  Klein  eagerly. 
"Nine  is  all  I  need." 

When  it  came  time  to  pay  Lazarus  he  bor- 
rowed eight  dollars  from  Lubarsky.  And  thus, 
you  can  readily  see,  he  would  have  been  free  of 
all  his  troubles  and  entirely  out  of  debt  in  ex- 
actly eight  more  weeks  if,  once  again,  the  sys- 
tem had  not  Slipped  a  Cog.  That,  you  must  al- 
ways remember,  is  a  habit  that  all  human  sys- 
tems have.  Not  that  they  always  Slip  a  Cog, 
for  then  they  would  not  be  systems.  They  only 


274          [With  the  Best  Intention 

Slip  the  Cog  often  enough  to  prove  how  worth- 
less they  are. 

Mandelbaum  had  worked  overtime  the  day 
before  and  came  to  the  shop  late  on  the  follow- 
ing morning.  His  table  was  next  to  Klein's. 
"Say,  Klein,"  he  began,  " what's  this  business 
about  the  benefit  club  1 ' ' 

Klein  began  to  perspire,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  all  the  lights  in  the  world  had  sud- 
denly gone  out.  "Wh-what  are  you  talking 
about?"  he  asked. 

"I  just  met  your  wife  on  the  street,  and  she 
said  I  was  a  fool  for  getting  up  a  benefit 
club." 

Klein  felt  his  heart  rising  toward  his  larynx. 
"What  did  you  tell  her!"  he  asked  faintly. 

"I  told  her  I  never  started  any  benefit  club 
and  that  I  didn't  know  what  she  was  talking 
about.  My,  but  she  looked  mad  I  What 's  it  all 
about?" 

Klein  laid  his  hand  upon  Mandelbaum 's  arm. 
"Swear  on  the  Torah  you'll  never  tell  a  soul 
about  it,  and  I  '11  tell  you  everything.  She  '11  be 
here  at  lunch-time,  and  I  don't  know  what  to 
do." 

Mandelbaum  swore  he  would  never  reveal  a 
word  of  the  other's  confidence,  and  Klein  told 


Klein's  Financial  System          275 

his  story.  It  did  him  good  to  tell  it,  too,  for 
now  that  he  had  to  face  his  wife  he  felt  that  his 
burden  was  too  great  to  bear.  Long  before  he 
had  finished  his  recital  Mandelbaum 's  counten- 
ance was  overspread  with  a  huge  grin. 

"You  needn't  laugh,"  said  Klein.  "It  was 
all  your  fault  in  the  beginning.  You  told  me  to 
play  dice  with  that  man  or  I  would  never  have 
done  it." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mandelbaum,  gravely. 
"Let  me  think.  Maybe  there  is  a  way  out  of 
it." 

For  a  long  time  the  two  men  chalked  patterns 
on  cloth  and  cut  the  cloth  in  silence.  Then 
Mandelbaum  turned  to  his  companion  with  a 
wink  and  a  grin. 

"Klein,"  he  whispered,  "I  have  it!" 

"What  shall  I  do?"  Klein  whispered  in  turn. 

"Don't  do  anything!"  said  Mandelbaum. 
1 1  Leave  it  all  to  me.  I  got  to  do  a  lot  of  think- 
ing, but  when  she  comes  you  leave  everything 
to  me.  I  promise  you  it  will  all  come  out  right. 
How  much  do  you  owe  now?" 

"Eight  dollars,"  whispered  Klein. 

"H'm!  I  guess  it's  all  right.  Sh-h-h! 
Here  she  comes!" 

Klein  turned,  astounded,  and  beheld  his  wife 


276          With  the  Best  Intention 

enter  the  workroom.  "Wh-what  brings  you  so 
early  ?"  he  asked.  He  felt  those  old,  familiar 
chills  coursing  tremulously  up  and  down  the 
marrow  of  his  spine. 

"Come  outside,"  said  his  wife.  "I  want  to 
talk  with  you!" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Klein,"  said  Mandelbaum  cheer- 
ily, "you're  just  the  person  I  want  to  see!" 
And  he  accompanied  Klein  out  into  the  hall- 
way. 

Mrs.  Klein  glared  at  him.  "Well!"  she 
asked,  in  an  icy  voice.  "What  do  you  want?" 

"Mrs.  Klein,"  said  Mandelbaum  solemnly, 
"I  just  had  a  talk  with  the  other  members  of 
the  club,  and  we  fined  your  husband  nine  dol- 
lars because  he  talks  too  much.  A  secret  club 
is  a  secret  club,  and  no  member  has  a  right  to 
tell  even  his  wife  about  it.  When  you  asked 
me  about  the  club,  I  told  you  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  it.  I  thought  maybe  you  just 
learned  it  by  accident.  But  your  husband  con- 
fessed that  he  told  you,  and  the  rules  say  that 
any  member  who  tells  about  the  club  is  fined 
nine  dollars.  And  if  he  don't  pay  right  away 
we  must  put  up  his  name,  and  he  has  to  pay  a 
dollar  more  each  week." 

Klein,  with  tears  in  his  eyes — and  they  were 


Klein's  Financial  System         277 

genuine  tears,  too — turned  to  his  wife.  "Oh, 
how  could  you ! "  he  exclaimed  mournfully. 

His  wife  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"You  never  said  it  was  a  secret!"  she  declared. 

"I — I  never  thought  you'd  tell  any  body, "  he 
retorted.  "See  what  I  get  for  it.  No  other 
member  told  his  wife.  Only  me.  And  I'm 
fined  eight  dollars." 

' '  Nine ! ' '  corrected  Mandelbaum. 

Klein  looked  at  him.  "I  thought  it  was 
eight,"  he  said,  in  surprise. 

But  Mandelbaum  shook  his  head.  "Nine," 
he  said.  "And,  besides,  you  got  to  go  to  the 
secret  meeting  to-night  and  give  an  explana- 
tion. If  you  don't" — he  shook  his  head  om- 
inously— "you  know  the  secret  rules!" 

Klein  looked  at  him  in  bewilderment.  Then 
he  turned  to  his  wife.  "I  must  have  the  nine 
dollars!" 

Mrs.  Klein,  with  lips  pressed  firmly  together, 
opened  her  reticule,  drew  out  a  pocket-book,  and 
began  to  count  out  nine  one-dollar  bills.  Even 
in  the  new  order  of  things,  you  see,  there  are 
times  when  a  woman  feels  that  speech  is  help- 
less. The  fact  that  she  dominates  the  household 
is  a  secret  that  she  desires  to  keep  to  herself. 
Mrs.  Klein  reluctantly  handed  her  husband  the 


278          With  the  Best  Intention 

money,  which  he,  in  turn,  handed  to  Mandel- 
baum. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me  about  anything 
special  1 ' '  Klein  then  asked  his  wife. 

"No!"  she  said.  And  without  another  word 
she  departed. 

"What  did  you  make  it  nine  dollars  for?" 
asked  Klein  immediately.  "I  only  owe  eight." 

Mandelbaum  winked  at  him.  "You  and  I 
will  hold  the  secret  meeting  at  the  coffee-house 
to-night,  and  the  dollar  will  come  in  handy." 


XIV 

Bimberg's  Night  Off 

egg  of  to-day,"  saith  the  Talmud, 
"is  better  than  the  hen  of  to-morrow." 
Right-o!  A  shipwrecked  traveller  clinging  to 
a  raft  in  mid-ocean  imagines  he  has  reached  the 
zenith  of  his  happiness  when  a  liner  appears 
upon  the  scene,  lowers  a  lifeboat,  and  picks  him 
up.  But  after  his  clothes  are  dried  and  he  has 
eaten  a  few  meals  he  wishes  he  had  a  cabin  de 
luxe  on  the  promenade  deck  and  a  seat  at  the 
captain's  table.  In  proof  of  all  of  which  "list, 
list,  oh,  list!"  to  this  experience  of  Lapidowitz. 
Lapidowitz  had  taken  up  the  drama.  Some 
one  had  told  him  of  the  fabulous  sums  that  play- 
wrights make,  and  Lapidowitz,  after  witnessing 
a  performance  of  the  "Rose  of  Sharon"  at  the 
Yiddish  Theatre  had  written  a  play.  He  wrote 
it  in  Milken's  cafe,  and  having  explained  to 
Milken  how  much  money  he  expected  to  get  for 
it,  and  having  allowed  him  to  read  the  manu- 
script page  by  page  as  he  wrote  it,  had  no 

279 


280          With  the  Best  Intention 

trouble  in  getting  his  meals  on  credit.  It  took 
him  three  days  to  finish  the  play.  It  was  a 
tragedy  with  enough  comedy,  burlesque,  and 
melodrama  thrown  in  to  give  it  variety. 

Milken  admired  it  immensely.  The  title  of  it 
was  "A  Son  of  the  Talmud,"  but  Lapidowitz 
decided  that  he  would  not  object  if  the  manager 
of  the  Yiddish  Theatre  changed  this  title  to 
something  better. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Lapidowitz  did  not  care 
what  the  stage-manager  did  with  the  play.  He 
had  no  pride  of  authorship  and  no  sensitive 
feelings  of  any  kind  that  could  possibly  be  hurt. 
Lapidowitz  simply  needed  money,  and  unless  he 
could  raise  money  he  knew  he  would  have  to  go 
to  work.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  re- 
sources. All  his  friends  refused  to  lend  him 
any  more  money,  his  credit  was  exhausted 
everywhere  except  in  Milken's  cafe,  and  his  silk 
hat  was  becoming  frowzy.  The  ordinary  mis- 
fortunes attendant  upon  laziness  and  poverty 
Lapidowitz  could  bear  with  equanimity.  He 
had  been  accustomed  to  them  for  years,  and  he 
had  not  yet  lost  faith  in  the  guiding  maxim  of 
his  life:  "If  no  one  will  lend  you  money  for 
dinner  some  one  is  sure  to  lend  you  money  for 
supper."  But  a  frowzy  silk  hat  grated  upon 


Bimberg's  Night  Off  281 

his  sensibilities.  Hence,  "A  Son  of  the  Tal- 
mud. ' ' 

The  manager  of  the  Yiddish  Theatre  took  the 
manuscript  and  began  to  read  it.  Lapidowitz 
sat  watching  his  face  as  he  read.  At  first  the 
manager  read  the  lines  carefully,  without  skip- 
ping a  word. 

1  'You  can  change  the  title,"  said  Lapidowitz. 
"Maybe  you  will  think  of  something  more 
catchy  for  the  public  than  'A  Son  of  the  Tal- 
mud.' " 

The  manager  did  not  answer,  but  began  to 
read  every  third  or  fourth  line. 

"If  you  want  to  leave  out  any  part  I  haven't 
any  objection,"  ventured  Lapidowitz,  hopefully 
watching  the  manager's  face. 

The  manager  now  began  to  skip  pages,  glanc- 
ing casually  over  every  fourth  or  fifth. 

"Maybe  there  are  things  you  want  me  to 
write  over  again,"  suggested  Lapidowitz. 

The  manager  yawned  and  handed  him  back 
his  manuscript. 

"You  couldn't  use  it?"  asked  Lapidowitz. 

"Not  if  you  paid  me  ten  thousand  dollars," 
replied  the  manager.  He  gazed  at  Lapidowitz 
studiously  for  a  minute.  "Say,  my  friend,"  he 
said,  "I  haven't  got  time  to  bother  with  you 


282          With  the  Best  Intention 

very  mucli.  But  if  you're  looking  for  work  I've 
got  a  job  for  you.  I  need  a  doorkeeper  at 
the  stage  entrance.  The  man  who  had  the 
job  is  sick.  Do  you  want  it  or  not?  Hurry 
up!" 

Lapidowitz  drew  a  long  breath.  * '  I  take  it ! " 
he  said.  And  that  is  how  Lapidowitz  became 
an  employe  of  the  Yiddish  Theatre.  The  first 
night  he  attended  to  his  duties  faithfully.  The 
second  night  he  found  it  tiresome  sitting  in  the 
dark  corridor  all  alone,  and  thought  he  would 
take  a  peep  at  the  performance  from  the  wings. 
The  stage-manager  grasped  him  firmly  by  the 
ear. 

"If  you  leave  the  door  again,"  he  hissed  at 
him,  "I'll  kick  you  out  of  the  theatre." 

Lapidowitz  resumed  his  post  at  the  door,  and 
whiled  away  the  time  by  cursing  the  stage-man- 
ager. Here,  as  the  old  authors  used  to  say,  let 
us  leave  our  hero  for  a  moment  while  we  con- 
duct our  readers  to  another  scene. 

It  was  in  a  restaurant  on  Grand  Street. 
Bimberg,  the  drygoods  man,  sat  at  a  table  with 
half  a  dozen  of  his  friends  drinking  Somorodnyi 
and  explaining,  over  and  over  again,  how  it 
happened  that  he  had  a  night  off.  Bimberg 's 
friends  always  spoke  to  him  in  Yiddish,  but 


Bimberg's  Night  Off  283 

Bimberg,  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  spoke 
nothing  but  what  he  called  English. 

"Der  vife,"  he  said,  "goes  to  Brooklyn  be- 
cause her  mamma  iss  sick  unt  says  I  should  stay 
home.  Unt  den  she  telephones  dot  she  got  to 
stay  all  night  mit  mamma,  unt  dot  I  should  go 
to  bed.  So  I  gif  Rachel,  der  cook,  fifty  cents  so 
dot  she  don't  say  not 'ing.  Unt  here  I  am! 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha!" 

Bimberg  was  well  known  upon  the  East  Side, 
and  as  no  one  had  ever  before  seen  him  in  a  res- 
taurant without  his  wife,  and  as  a  great  many 
of  his  acquaintances  happened  to  pass  his  table 
that  night,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  repeating 
this  explanation  at  least  twenty  tunes. 

Somorodnyi  is  a  mild  Hungarian  wine  with  a 
flavour  something  like  that  of  sherry,  but  Bim- 
berg was  not  accustomed  to  drinking  anything 
stronger  than  coffee,  and  it  required  only  two 
small  glasses  to  fill  him  with  pleasurable  excite- 
ment. Then  some  one  suggested  the  Yiddish 
Theatre,  and  Bimberg  enthusiastically  seconded 
the  suggestion. 

Here,  let  us  again  digress  for  half  a  second. 
Why  is  it  that  when  a  group  of  people  are  feel- 
ing in  fine  spirits  after  dinner  the  suggestion 
of  the  theatre  always  appeals  to  them!  Those 


284          With  the  Best  Intention 

who  are  depressed  or  in  a  thoughtful  or  sombre 
mood  or  worried  or  wrapped  up  in  the  contem- 
plation of  their  own  affairs,  and  who,  one  would 
be  tempted  to  think,  would  be  most  benefited 
by  the  relaxation  of  witnessing  an  interesting 
play,  are,  as  a  rule,  least  prone  to  flee  from  their 
troubles  and  seek  solace  in  the  theatre.  While, 
upon  the  other  hand,  I  have  yet  to  find  a  group 
of  people  in  that  delightful  frame  of  mind  in 
which  they  feel  uplifted  and  amused  and  per- 
fectly happy  in  the  interchange  of  thought  and 
badinage  by  whom  the  suggestion  of  going  to 
a  theatre  is  not  greeted  with  spontaneous  en- 
thusiasm 1 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Bimberg  and  his  friends 
went  to  the  theatre.  Rosa  Lazarus  was  play- 
ing the  leading  part  in  the  "Bose  of  Sharon," 
and  Bimberg  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  her. 
He  was  not  accustomed  to  the  theatre,  and  the 
lofty  lines  that  she  spoke  seemed  to  him  a  nat- 
ural part  of  her  character,  harmonising  as  they 
did  with  the  beauty  of  her  face  and  figure. 

"How  I  would  like  to  sit  down  and  talk  with 
a  woman  like  that ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?"  responded  one  of  his  friends. 
"It  is  the  custom.  All  you  have  to  do  if  you 
like  an  actress  is  to  go  to  the  stage  door  and 


Bimberg's  Night  Off  285 

send  her  a  note  saying  you  would  like  to  make 
her  acquaintance.  I  have  often  read  about  it 
in  the  newspapers. ' ' 

The  suggestion  appealed  to  Bimberg.  He 
wrote  upon  a  slip  of  paper : 

' '  Charming  Lady,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much 
your  noble  character  appeals  to  me.  I  would 
like  to  become  acquainted  with  you.  My  name 
is  Bimberg,  the  drygoods  man.  Please  send  me 
an  answer." 

At  the  end  of  the  act  he  went  around  to  the 
stage  door  and  handed  the  note  to  the  door- 
keeper. It  was  somewhat  dark,  and  in.  the  tall 
figure  that  received  his  note  he  failed  to  rec- 
ognise Lapidowitz,  the  well-known  schnorrer, 
although  Lapidowitz  instantly  recognised 
him. 

" Hello,  Mr.  Bimberg!"  exclaimed  Lapido- 
witz. "Just  wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  give  the 
note  to  Miss  Lazarus." 

At  that  instant  something  within  Bimberg 
seemed  to  stir  and  awaken,  and  he  experienced 
the  sinking  sensation  of  a  man  who  realises  that 
he  has  committed  a  blunder.  He  wanted  to  re- 
call the  note,  but  the  doorkeeper  was  already 
out  of  sight.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Lapidowitz 
had  turned  around  an  angle  of  the  corridor  and 


286          With  the  Best  Intention 

was  holding  the  note  under  a  gas  jet.  As  he 
read  it  he  chuckled. 

' '  If  Mrs.  Bimberg  knew ! "  he  exclaimed.  He 
pocketed  the  note  and  returned  to  the  actress's 
admirer. 

"Miss  Lazarus  is  married,  Mr.  Bimberg,"  he 
said.  ''Her  name  off  the  stage  is  Mrs.  Lazin- 
sky.  Lazarus  is  only  her  stage  name.  Her  hus- 
band is  in  the  company,  and  she  says  she 
hasn't  time  to  meet  anybody." 

Bimberg  did  not  even  rejoin  his  friends.  He 
hurried  home,  got  into  bed,  and  crawled  as  far 
under  the  covers  as  he  could.  Lapidowitz, 
meanwhile,  read  the  note  over  and  over  again, 
laughing  at  first  and  then  plunged  in  deep 
thought.  With  a  final  sigh  of  satisfaction  he 
put  the  note  in  his  pocket  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"Maybe  yes,"  he  said,  "and  maybe  no.  But 
I  guess  yes." 

The  following  morning  Bimberg  sat  in  his 
inner  office  busily  engaged  in  dictating  letters. 
He  had  a  slight  headache  and  felt  cross.  And 
he  was  very  busy.  A  boy  announced  that  Mr. 
Lapidowitz  wished  to  see  him. 

" Lapidowitz f  Lapidowitz?"  muttered  Bim- 
berg. ; '  Der  schnorrer  ?  Tell  him  I  'm  too  busy. 
I  don't  see  anybody." 


Bimberg's  Night  Off  287 

He  continued  his  dictation.  The  events  of 
the  preceding  night  had  not  recurred  to  his 
mind.  But  the  boy  returned. 

"He  says  he's  the  doorkeeper  by  the  Yiddish 
The-aytre.  He  says  maybe  you  remember  Miss 
Lazarus ! ' ' 

The  whole  situation  revealed  itself  to  Bim- 
berg  as  vividly  and  as  suddenly  as  if  a  flash  of 
lightning  had  illuminated  it.  He  felt  himself 
perspiring  from  head  to  foot.  He  dismissed 
his  stenographer,  and  asked  Lapidowitz  to 
enter.'  There  was  something  almost  sublime  in 
the  audacity  of  Lapidowitz.  He  neither 
hemmed  nor  hawed;  neither  hesitated  nor  di- 
gressed. He  entered  smiling  cheerfully. 

"Mr.  Bimberg,"  he  said  in  Yiddish,  "you're 
my  friend,  and  I'm  yours.  I  don't  like  the  job 
in  the  theatre,  and  I  guess  you  can  give  me  a 
job  in  your  big  drygoods  store." 

"A  chob?"  repeated  Bimberg,  blinking.  "I 
have  no  chobs." 

"Veil,"  said  Lapidowitz,  lapsing  into  Eng- 
glish,  "ven  a  man  ain't  got  a  chob  he  makes 
vun.  I  did  a  good  favour  by  you  last  night. 
Now  you  do  vun  by  me  like  a  good  friend. 
Ain't  it?" 

Bimberg  stared  at  him.    Lapidowitz  was  still 


288          With  the  Best  Intention 

smiling,  but  Bimberg  knew  enough  of  men  to  un- 
derstand all  that  was  passing  in  the  schnorrer's 
mind.  He  felt  a  cold  chill  run  down  his  spine. 

"Der  only  chob  vot  I  got,"  he  said,  "is  for  a 
man  to  come  sometimes  unt  take  care  uf  der  cus- 
tomers' umbrellas  by  der  door  ven  it  rains." 

"It  don't  rain  often  enough,"  said  Lapido- 
witz  decisively.  "I  got  to  haf  a  chob  vot  iss 
steady." 

Bimberg  scratched  his  head. 

"Oh,  don't  be  afraid  about  last  night,"  said 
Lapidowitz.  "I  vouldn't  tell  Mrs.  Bimberg  or 
der  rabbi  or  der  shamash  uf  der  synagogue  or 
any  uf  der  members  uf  der  lodge  about  Miss 
Lazarus.  I'm  a  man  vot  can  keep  a  secret. 
But  I  bet  you  can  make  a  good  chob  for  me  if 
you  t'ink  vunce!"  Bimberg  thought.  He 
never  had  thought  so  much  or  so  quickly  before 
in  all  his  life.  Then  he  rang  a  bell.  "Mr. 
Cohen,"  he  said  to  a  sallow-faced  clerk  who  ap- 
peared, "gif  dis  man  a  chob  in  der  office.  He 
can  make  out  der  bills." 

"  Ve  got  too  many  in  der  office  already,"  said 
the  clerk.  "Efry  time  I  ask  for  a  raise  in  my 
sellery  you  say  I  got  too  many  people  in  der 
office. ' ' 


Bimberg 's  Night  Off  289 

Bimberg  drew  himself  to  his  full  height.  "I 
am  der  boss,"  he  said.  "Gif  him  der  chob!" 

"Sure  Mr.  Bimberg  is  der  boss!"  added  La- 
pidowitz  with  a  frown.  "You  should  alvays  do 
vot  your  boss  says." 

For  half  an  hour  Bimberg  sat  heaping  silent 
imprecations  upon  the  head  of  Lapidowitz. 
And  then,  being  really  very  busy  that  day,  he 
went  on  with  his  work  and  soon  forgot  all  about 
the  matter. 

Lapidowitz  meanwhile  was  learning  how  to 
make  out  the  bills.  He  learned  quickly,  and 
did  his  work  neatly  and  well.  Mr.  Cohen,  the 
chief  clerk,  said  very  little  to  him,  but  watched 
him  narrowly.  For  three  days  Lapidowitz  con- 
tinued at  this  work,  and  for  three  days  he  was 
perfectly  contented.  On  the  fourth  day  he  ap- 
proached Bimberg. 

"Mr.  Bimberg,"  he  said,  "I  know  all  about 
der  bills  now.  But  vot  I  vould  like  to  do  iss  to 
go  out  in  der  store  unt  be  a  floor-valker.  I 
know  vare  iss  all  der  departments,  unt  I  can  do 
it  good." 

Bimberg  suddenly  felt  panic-stricken.  "But 
I  got  two  floor-valkers  already!"  he  said. 

"Den  you  vill  haf  free,"  replied  Lapidowitz. 


290          .With  the  Best  Intention 

"Tint  so  soon  I  am  here  a  couple  uf  veeks  you 
can  let  vun  go. ' ' 

"  V'y  don't  you  take  der  whole  store?"  asked 
Bimberg. 

"Mr.  Bimberg,"  said  Lapidowitz  reproach- 
fully, * '  only  yesterday  I  seen  Mrs.  Bimberg  on 
der  street.  Did  I  said  anyt'ing  to  her  about 
der  the-atre  ?  Not  a  vord !  Unt  der  rabbi  said 
to  me  he  iss  so  glad  you  haf  me  in  your  store. 
Did  I  said  anyt'ing  to  him  about  Miss  Laz- 
arus? Not  a  vord!  Ven  I  haf  did  a  favour 
by  you  v'y  can't  you  do  vun  by  me?" 

Lapidowitz  became  a  floor-walker.  Bimberg 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  went  to  the  nearest 
coffee-house  to  ponder  over  the  matter.  The 
longer  he  pondered  the  less  headway  he  made. 
It  was  one  of  those  situations  that  are  simply 
unthinkable.  The  moment  his  mind  reverted 
to  the  idea  of  his  wife  learning  that  he  had  writ- 
ten a  note  to  an  actress  he  could  only  groan. 
Whenever  he  tried  to  approach  the  situation 
from  another  direction  his  mind  came  back  to 
his  wife  and  the  note  to  Miss  Lazarus.  And 
after  grappling  with  the  whole  matter  for  half 
an  hour  and  thinking  around  the  same  circle 
over  and  over  again  he  returned  to  the  store. 

Lapidowitz  made  an  ideal  floor-walker.    His 


Biniberg's  Night  Off  291 

tall,  imposing  figure  looked  quite  majestic  when 
he  directed  an  attractive-looking  woman  to  the 
millinery  department.  He  only  regretted  that 
he  could  not  wear  his  silk  hat  in  the  store,  for 
he  had  bought  a  new  one,  and  a  shining  silk  hat 
was  a  crown  of  glory  in  Lapidowitz's  eyes.  Mr. 
Cohen,  the  sallow-faced  clerk,  never  spoke  to 
him,  but  often  watched  him. 

It  was  when  Mrs.  Bimberg  herself  came  to  the 
store,  which  she  did  frequently  and  unexpect- 
edly, that  Lapidowitz  was  at  his  best  as  a  floor- 
walker. The  gallantry  with  which  he  escorted 
her  from  counter  to  counter  and  the  lordly  man- 
ner with  which  he  ordered  the  salesmen  and 
saleswomen  to  wait  upon  her  promptly  made 
quite  an  impression  upon  her. 

' 'You  have  a  fine,  new  floor- walker,"  she  said 
to  her  husband. 

Bimberg  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 
He  felt  like  a  man  sleeping  on  the  brink  of  a 
volcano.  But  even  this  feeling  might  ultimately 
have  passed  away,  and  Lapidowitz,  had  he  been 
content  with  his  position,  might  have  continued 
as  floor-walker  indefinitely.  But  the  seed  of 
ambition  had  been  implanted  in  the  schnorrer's 
breast.  He  had  had  a  taste  of  authority.  Am- 
bition is  a  dreadful  ailment. 


292          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Mr.  Bimberg,"  he  said,  one  day  after  he 
had  been  floor-walker  for  nearly  a  week, 
"vouldn't  it  be  a  good  idea  if  I  vos  der  cheneral 
manager  uf  der  store?  Den,  sometimes,  you 
could  take  a  vacation,  unt  I  could  be  der  boss !" 

Bimberg  turned  pale  and  tried  to  swallow  a 
lump  in  his  throat.  "I  don't  vant  a  vacation," 
he  said. 

"You  should  take  vun,"  insisted  the  schnor- 
rer.  "You  look  pale." 

"Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  said  the  proprietor 
weakly,  "gif  me  a  couple  uf  days  to  t'ink  about 
it.  I  vill  see  if  I  can  do  it. ' ' 

Through  the  glass  door  Mr.  Cohen,  the  sal- 
low-faced clerk,  could  see  Bimberg  with  his 
elbow  on  his  desk  and  his  head  resting  upon  his 
hand  in  an  attitude  of  utter  dejection.  He  en- 
tered and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Mr.  Bimberg,"  he  said,  "you  haf  troubles. 
Unt  it's  all  about  dot  loafer  Lapidowitz.  Ten 
years  I  haf  been  vit'  you,  unt  you  know  you 
can  trust  me.  Tell  me  vot  iss  it.  Maybe  I  can 
help  you.  I  got  a  friend  vot  iss  a  Irisher. 
Some  day  I  ask  him  to  come  here  und  gif  dot 
Lapidowitz  a  punch  on  der  nose." 

Bimberg  gazed  at  his  clerk.  He  felt  so  mis- 
erable that  he  longed  to  confide  in  some  one. 


Bimberg 's  Night  Off  293 

He  made  the  clerk  swear  on  the  Talmud  and 
the  Torah  and  on  his  father's  grave  and  his 
grandmother's  bones  that  he  would  never  be- 
tray him.  Then  he  told  the  story  of  that  fate- 
ful night. 

Mr.  Cohen  pressed  his  lips  tightly  together 
and  nodded.  "I  go  around  to  der  coffee- 
house," he  said,  "unt  sit  down  unt  t'ink  about 
it.  Maybe  I  come  back  vit'  a  good  idea." 

Bimberg  nodded.  "Don't  stay  avay  too, 
long,"  he  said.  "You  haf  plenty  uf  vork 
to  do." 

The  clerk  was  gone  nearly  an  hour,  but  when 
he  returned  he  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 
"Ihaf  got  it!"  he  said. 

Bimberg  listened  eagerly  while  the  clerk 
whispered  his  scheme  into  his  ear.  Then  he 
threw  his  arm  around  Mr.  Cohen's  neck.  "In 
two  veeks  you  come  to  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
happy  smile,  "unt  ve  talk  about  your  sel- 
lery." 

That  night  Bimberg  took  his  wife  to  dinner 
at  a  restaurant.  "Ve  go  to  der  the-ayter 
after,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Cohen  got  a  fine  idea. 
He  says  der  whole  city  iss  crazy  about  dot  Miss 
Lazarus  vot  plays  in  der  'Rose  uf  Sharon,'  unt 
if  I  can  get  her  to  put  on  vun  uf  our  ten-dollar 


294          .With  the  Best  Intention 

suits  I  can  put  it  der  newspaper  unt  efrybody 
buys  vun!" 

Mrs.  Bimberg  nodded  approvingly.  "It's  a 
fine  business  idea,"  she  said. 

"Der  trouble  iss,"  continued  her  husband, 
"Mr.  Cohen  says  she  don't  nefer  see  nobody 
except  ven  dey  write  her  foolish  letters.  So  I 
got  up  a  letter  vot  I  vill  gif  her  to-night,  unt 
den  you  come  vit'  me  unt  ve  all  talk  business." 
He  handed  her  a  note  that  he  had  written  in 
Yiddish. 

"Charming  lady,"  it  ran,  "you  have  such  a 
noble  character.  I  would  like  to  get  acquainted 
with  you.  I  am  Bimberg  the  drygoods  man. 
Please  meet  me  after  the  theatre  and  have  a 
talk." 

His  wife  frowned. 

"You  should  write  you  are  married  unt  got 
a  vife,"  she  suggested. 

But  Bimberg  shook  his  head.  "Mr.  Cohen 
says  dot  vill  spoil  efryt'ing.  Anyvay  so  soon 
she  comes  out  I  introduce  you,  unt  she  finds  out 
qvick  dot  I  am  married." 

"I  guess  you  haf  right,"  assented  Mrs. 
Bimberg.  Women,  you  see,  instinctively  know 
something  of  each  other's  psychology.  An 
hour  later,  when  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  the 


Bimberg 's  Night  Off  295 

first  act,  Bimbcrg  left  his  wife  and  went  out 
of  the  theatre.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
tear  his  note  into  tiny  bits  and  scatter  them  ell 
over  the  street.  Then  he  went  to  a  coffee- 
house, drank  a  cup  of  black  coffee,  smoked  a 
huge  cigar,  and  smiled  contentedly  to  himself. 
When  he  rejoined  his  wife  he  shook  his  head 
sadly. 

"Der  doorkeeper  iss  fresh,"  he  said.  "I 
couldn't  see  her,  unt  she  iss  married  unt  nefer 
meets  nobody." 

Somehow  or  other  Mrs.  Bimberg  did  not  ap- 
pear to  be  greatly  disappointed.  Women,  of 
course,  have  not  the  same  keen  business  sense 
that  men  have.  But  on  the  way  home  Bimberg 
remarked  to  her,  jokingly: 

"Vot  vould  all  der  people  say  if  dey  know  I 
sent  a  foolish  letter  by  a  actress?" 

"So  long  I  am  vit'  you  unt  know  about  it," 
said  Mrs.  Bimberg,  "it  iss  nobody's  bizness!" 

The  next  morning  Bimberg  called  Lapido- 
witz  into  his  office.  "I  haf  made  up  my  mind," 
he  said.  "Vait  two  weeks  unt  den  I  haf  some- 
t'ing  good  for  you."  Then  he  sent  for  Mr. 
Cohen.  "Ve  must  vait  two  veeks,"  he  said. 
"In  two  veeks  nobody  knows  if  it  iss  two  veeks 
or  free  veeks."  Mr.  Cohen  saw  the  shrewd- 


296          With  the  Best  Intention 

ness  of  this  and  looked  at  his  employer  admir- 
ingly. It  had  never  occurred  to  him  before 
that  Bimberg  was  clever.  It  rarely  occurs  to 
any  employe  that  his  employer  is  wiser  than  he. 

Several  times  during  those  two  weeks  Lapi- 
dowitz  became  impatient. 

"V'y  should  I  vait  so  long?"  he  asked.  "I 
didn't  vait  two  veeks  to  make  up  my  mind  not 
to  tell  nobody  about  der  the-ayter  unt  Miss 
Lazarus.  Eight  avay  I  say  to  myself,  'Lapi- 
dowitz,  Mr.  Bimberg  iss  your  friend,  unt  you 
must  stick  by  him.'  V'y  don't  you  stick  by  me 
now  unt  make  me  der  manager  right  avay? 
Dot  floor-walking  bizness  gifs  me  a  pain  in  my 
feet." 

"Ven  der  two  weeks  iss  up  unt  not  before," 
said  Bimberg  firmly.  He  took  pains,  during 
those  two  weeks,  to  tell  the  rabbi  and  most  of 
his  friends  in  the  synagogue  and  in  his  lodge  of 
how  he  and  his  wife  had  tried  to  meet  Miss 
Lazarus  of  'The  Eose  of  Sharon*  Company. 
The  day  before  the  two  weeks  were  up  he  said 
to  Mr.  Cohen: 

' '  Tell  your  Irisher  friend  to  come  here  in  der 
morning. ' ' 

The  following  morning  Lapidowitz  presented 


Biniberg's  Night  Off  297 

himself  in  Bimberg's  inner  office.  "I  haf  come 
for  der  chob  uf  manager,"  he  said. 

"I  haf  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Bimberg, 
grinning,  "to  gif  yer  der  bounce.  Get  ouid  uf 
der  store!" 

Lapidowitz  turned  red  with  rage.  "Der 
bounce  f  "  he  cried.  ' l  Ha !  Ha !  It  iss  a  choke ! 
In  my  pocket  I  got  der  note  vot  you  sent  by 
Miss  Lazarus!" 

Bimberg  rang  a  bell,  and  the  sallow  face  of 
Mr.  Cohen  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "Tell 
der  Irisher  der  time  hass  come !"  said  Bimberg. 

Exactly  how  it  happened  Lapidowitz  never 
clearly  understood.  He  remembered  that  a 
red-haired,  stocky  chap  who  seemed  made  of 
iron  had  something  to  do  with  it.  "When  he 
gathered  himself  up  from  the  sidewalk  in  front 
of  the  store  he  saw  his  silk  hat,  crushed  and 
covered  with  mud,  lying  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  He  picked  it  up  and  gazed  at  it  in  be- 
wilderment. How  could  so  beautiful  a  crea- 
tion as  that  silk  hat  had  been,  only  a  few 
moments  ago,  become  such  a  hopeless  wreck  so 
quickly?  At  that  moment  he  espied  Mrs.  Bim- 
berg on  her  way  to  the  store. 

'  *  Vot  iss  it  ?  "  she  cried.    * '  Did  you  get  hit  ? " 


298          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Vot  it  iss?"  cried  Lapidowitz.  "It  iss  dot 
your  husband  sends  a  letter  by  an  actress ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Bimberg  gazed  at  him  coldly.  "Iss 
dot  your  bizness?"  she  asked.  "Ven  Mr.  Bim- 
berg sends  a  letter  to  Miss  Lazarus  vot  I  don't 
know  about  den  I'd  like  to  know  it."  She  en- 
tered the  store,  and  Lapidowitz  gazed  after  her 
blankly.  Then  he  went  home. 

EPILOGUE. 

"How  much  iss  your  sellery,  Mr.  Cohen?" 
asked  Bimberg. 

"Twelluf  dollars  a  veek,"  replied  the  sallow- 
faced  clerk. 

"Veil,  I  guess  I  make  it  t'irteen,"  said  Bim- 
berg, smiling  amiably. 

But  Mr.  Cohen  did  not  smile.  "Fifteen!" 
he  said. 

Bimberg  looked  at  him.  "Fifteen!  Ain't 
t'irteen  enough?"  he  demanded. 

Mr.  Cohen  shook  his  head.  "Mr.  Bimberg," 
he  said,  "you  know  in  your  heart  dot  I  never 
vill  tell  Mrs.  Bimberg  or  der  shamash  uf  der 
synagogue  or  der  people  in  der  lodge  about  der 
two  letters.  I  haf  been  your  friend  a  long 
time.  I  am  a  man  vot  you  can  trust.  You  bet- 
ter make  it  fifteen." 


Bimberg's  Night  Off  299 

Bimberg  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  heaved  a 
long  sigh.  "I  suppose  you  haf  right,"  he  said. 
"Make  it  fifteen!" 


XV 

Lapidowitz's  Partner 

* c  T~lIRST  he  peddled  shoe-strings.  When  he 
JL  got  saved  up  enough  money  to  buy  a 
push-cart  he  bought  a  push-cart.  His  business 
goes  good,  and  he  buys  another  push-cart. 
Pretty  soon  he  has  saved  enough  money  to 
start  a  little  store.  His  business  goes  good, 
and  he  buys  a  bigger  store.  Then  it  gets  only 
a  question  of  time.  Bigger  and  bigger  gets  the 
store,  and  bigger  and  bigger  gets  his  bank- 
account.  Pretty  soon  he  branches  out  into 
wholesale,  and  now  look  at  him!  A  house  up- 
town, a  real-estater  to  collect  rents  for  him 
down-town,  a  automobile,  piano  lessons  for  his 
daughter,  and  for  supper  every  night  he  wears 
a  swallow-tailer ! '  ' 

Lapidowitz  knew  every  word  of  it  by  heart. 
Since  the  night  that  Lubarsky,  smoking  a  fif- 
teen-cent-straight cigar  and  wearing  a  huge 
diamond  in  his  shirt-front,  had  condescended 
to  analyse  to  the  impecunious  crowd  gathered 

300 


Lapidowitz 's  Partner  301 

in  Milken's  Cafe  the  fabulous  rise  of  Harris, 
the  hosiery  king,  his  words  had  burned  in  Lapi- 
dowitz's  memory. 

A  house  up-town,  an  automobile,  piano  les- 
sons for  his  daughter — in  case  he  should  ever 
have  a  daughter — these  things  seemed  to  Lapi- 
dowitz  to  be  his  birthright.  To  wear  a  swal- 
low-tailer  to  dinner  every  night  seemed  to 
Lapidowitz  to  be  so  peculiarly  a  characteristic 
befitting  himself  that  he  almost  resented  Har- 
ris's habit  as  a  base  imitation.  And  to  think 
how  simple  it  all  was!  Peddling  shoe-strings 
was,  of  course,  entirely  out  of  the  question.  It 
was  altogether  too  cold  to  wander  from  house 
to  house  with  his  wares,  and  Lapidowitz  hated 
walking,  anyway.  But  if  he  only  had  enough 
money  to  buy  a  push-cart  and  some  goods  to 
sell,  the  road  to  wealth  and  idleness  would 
stretch  before  him.  A  push-cart  and  its  outfit 
would  cost  about  thirty  dollars.  Lapidowitz 
had  about  thirty  cents. 

For  many  days  Lapidowitz  could  think  of 
nothing  else  but  the  amazing  rise  of  the  hosiery 
king.  The  particular  kind  of  goods  that  he 
would  sell  if  he  had  a  push-cart  formed  no  part 
of  his  dream.  Lapidowitz  would  as  lief  have 
started  selling  cabbages  as  goldfish.  The 


302          With  the  Best  Intention 

money  necessary  to  embark  upon  the  venture 
was  all  that  worried  him. 

It  happened,  one  day,  that  Lapidowitz  found 
himself  in  Hester  Street  at  the  busiest  hour  of 
the  mart.  On  both  sides  of  the  street,  to  right 
and  to  left,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  stretched 
the  long  line  of  push-carts,  nearly  every  one  of 
them  surrounded  by  an  eager  throng  of  cus- 
tomers. The  air  resounded  with  the  chatter- 
ing and  jabbering  of  thrifty  purchasers  and 
zealous  venders  vying  with  one  another  in  the 
oldest  game  in  the  world.  As  Lapidowitz 
watched  the  pedlars  his  heart  grew  heavy  with 
envy.  The  story  of  Harris  was  vivid  in  his 
mind,  and  he  saw  in  each  pedlar  the  prospec- 
tive owner  of  a  house  up-town  and  an  automo- 
bile and  a  real-estater  collecting  rents  from 
tenement-houses  down-town.  The  thought  that 
each  of  these  men  would  some  day  be  able  to 
provide  private  piano  lessons  for  his  daughter 
was  the  hardest  of  all  to  bear. 

Suddenly  a  ripple  ran  down  the  whole  line 
of  stands;  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  and 
each  pedlar,  seizing  the  handles  of  his  push- 
cart, moved  his  outfit  a  few  feet  from  where  it 
had  been  standing.  A  policeman  had  come 
into  sight,  and  it  was  in  anticipation  of  his 


Lapidowitz 's  Partner  303 

warning  to  "move  on"  that  all  this  bustle  had 
arisen.  It  was  the  policeman's  duty  to  permit 
no  cart  to  remain  in  the  same  place  for  more 
than  ten  minutes,  but  inasmuch  as  some  learned 
judge  had  handed  down  a  decision  that  a  ped- 
lar's cart  had  only  to  move  a  foot  or  two  to  carry 
out  the  provision  of  this  law  and  as  policemen 
were  habitually  good-natured  about  it,  the  com- 
motion quickly  subsided  and  the  traffic  of  the 
mart  went  on. 

"  Hello,  Lapidowitz,"  said  the  policeman, 
prodding  the  schnorrer  gently  with  his  stick, 
"what's  worryin'  ye?" 

"I  got  troubles,  Mister  Garrity,"  said  Lapi- 
dowitz sadly. 

"G'long  with  ye!"  said  the  policeman.  "If 
I  had  them  whiskers  of  yours  I'd  be  walkin' 
down  Fifth  Avenoo  lettin'  the  ladies  admire 
them,  instid  o'  hangin'  around  here  lookin'  like 
a  mourner  at  a  funeral." 

Lapidowitz  looked  at  the  policeman.  He  had 
known  him  for  a  long  time  and,  like  every  one 
else  in  the  Ghetto,  liked  him  exceedingly.  A 
sudden  idea  had  entered  his  mind — an  idea  that 
held  out  unexpected  hope — and  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  policeman's  arm. 

"Mister  Garrity,"  he  said,  "how  vould  you 


304          With  the  Best  Intention 

like  to  haf  a  fine  house  up-town  unt  a  real- 
estater  to  collect  rents  from  der  tenement- 
houses  down-town  unt  a  otymobile  unt  private 
piano  lessons  for  your  daughter  unt  put  on  a 
svaller-tailer  for  supper  every  night  1 ' ' 

Officer  Garrity  twirled  his  moustache  with 
his  left  hand  and  his  stick  with  his  right.  "I 
haven't  got  any  daughter,"  he  says,  "but  it 
listens  good.  What's  the  game?" 

Lapidowitz  recounted  to  him  the  story  of  the 
wonderful  Harris,  the  hosiery  king,  and  then 
proposed  that  he,  Officer  Garrity,  should  ad- 
vance the  thirty  dollars  necessary  for  the 
launching  of  a  push-cart  enterprise  and  that 
thereafter  the  two  of  them,  hand  in  hand,  in 
equal  partnership,  should  follow  in  the  hosiery 
king's  footsteps.  Like  most  men  who  are 
richer  in  schemes  than  in  capital,  Lapidowitz 
became  infected  with  the  enthusiasm  of  his  own 
recital  and  grew  more  and  more  confident  as  he 
unfolded  his  scheme. 

"What  line  o'  goods  are  ye  thinkin'  o'  han- 
dling?" asked  the  policeman. 

Lapidowitz  glanced  at  the  nearest  push-cart. 
"Muslins,"  he  answered  promptly.  "I  know 
all  about  der  muslin  business." 

The  scheme  appealed  to  the  policeman,  and 


Lapidowitz 's  Partner  305 

for  several  minutes  he  stood  plunged  in  deep 
thought  and  nodding  approvingly  at  his  own 
reflections,  the  while  that  Lapidowitz  anxiously 
watched  him.  "I'll  do  it,"  he  finally  said. 
"Thirty  dollars  ain't  a  lot  o'  money  to  risk,  and 
maybe  ye 're  right  about  us  both  makin'  a  pile 
out  of  it.  But  I  ain't  takin'  no  chances,  Lapi- 
dowitz. I'll  send  McCarthy,  me  brother-in- 
law,  around  to  see  ye,  and  he'll  fix  it  up." 
Garrity  winked  and  smiled  as  he  said  this,  and 
Lapidowitz  wondered  what  there  was  to  wink 
or  smile  about. 

That  same  night  a  red-faced  chap  with  a 
square  jaw  and  very  impassive  blue  eyes  called 
upon  Lapidowitz  and  introduced  himself  as 
McCarthy.  The  schnorrer  greeted  him  effu- 
sively and  hoped  that  Officer  Garrity  was  well. 
McCarthy  gazed  at  Lapidowitz  long  and  ear- 
nestly and  then,  without  vouchsafing  a  reply  to 
his  friendly  greeting,  said: 

"Where's  the  stand  you're  going  to  buy?" 

"Oh,  dot's  all  right,"  said  Lapidowitz.  "So 
soon  as  I  get  der  money  I  go  out  unt  buy  vun." 

"When  you  get  the  money,"  explained  Mc- 
Carthy, "you  can  do  anything  you  please.  But 
you  don't  get  any  money  from  me.  If  you've 
got  a  stand  in  mind  and  a  supply  of  goods  that 


306          With  the  Best  Intention 

I  can  buy  for  thirty  dollars  lead  me  to  it,  and 
I'll  see  what's  what." 

Lapidowitz,  somewhat  crestfallen  at  this  ap- 
parent lack  of  confidence  in  him,  sailed  forth 
with  McCarthy,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours  succeeded  in  finding  a  suitable  push-cart 
for  sale  with  a  full  outfit  of  variegated  muslins. 
McCarthy  paid  for  it,  and  had  the  receipt  made 
out  in  his  own  name.  Then  he  arranged  with 
a  stableman  to  give  nightly  lodging  to  the  cart 
and  its  stock. 

" Good-bye,"  he  said  to  Lapidowitz,  when 
that  was  done.  "I  don't  expect  to  see  you 
again.  Take  the  cart  somewhere  and  begin 
selling  them  things.  Garrity  will  tell  you  what 
youVe  got  to  do." 

Inasmuch  as  Lapidowitz  had  the  utmost  con- 
fidence in  himself  and  had  carefully  planned 
what  he  intended  to  do  the  suggestion  of  con- 
sulting his  partner  seemed  somewhat  superflu- 
ous. He  wheeled  his  cart  to  Hester  Street  and 
took  up  his  position  near  a  corner  at  the  ex- 
treme end  of  the  line  of  push-carts  on  that 
block.  Then  he  lit  a  cigarette,  carefully 
brushed  his  silk  hat  on  his  sleeve,  and  waited 
for  the  money  to  roll  in. 

It  was  early  in  the  week  and  a  dull  day  in 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  307 

Hester  Street.  A  man  with  one  eye,  who  pre- 
sided over  a  load  of  fruit  at  the  adjoining  stand, 
grunted  when  he  beheld  his  new  neighbour. 

"Haf  you  become  a  business  man?"  he  asked, 
with  an  undisguised  sneer. 

"Yes,  Greenspan,"  replied  Lapidowitz  cheer- 
fully. "I'm  glad  you're  going  to  be  next 
by  me ! ' ' 

"For  v'y  are  you  glad?" 

"Oh,  I  may  want  to  leave  der  stand  for  a 
while,  unt  you  can  keep  a  eye  on  it. ' ' 

Greenspan  kept  his  eye  on  Lapidowitz  un- 
blinkingly  for  a  long  moment.  Then,  "I'll  be 
glad  to,"  said  he,  "ven  you  pay  me  der  two 
dollars  vot  you  owe  me  a  year  already." 

"I  gif  you  my  word,  Greenspan,"  said  Lapi- 
dowitz, cursing  himself  for  having  taken  up  his 
position  next  to  one  of  his  creditors,  "dot  is 
vot  I  haf  come  by  you  for.  So  soon  I  make  a 
little  profit  you  get  der  money. ' ' 

Greenspan,  somewhat  mollified  by  the  pros- 
pect of  recovering  his  money,  began  to  tell  how 
dull  business  was.  But,  even  as  he  spoke,  a 
woman  paused  before  Lapidowitz's  stand, 
picked  up  a  roll  of  gaily  coloured  muslin,  gazed 
at  it,  felt  its  texture,  sniffed  at  it — did  every- 
thing, in  fact,  but  taste  it  or  listen  to  it — and 


308          With  the  Best  Intention 

then  purchased  six  yards  of  it.  Lapidowitz 
held  the  thirty  cents  that  she  gave  him  tightly 
in  his  hand  and  turned  to  Greenspan. 

1  'Just  keep  a  eye  on  der  stand,  neighbour," 
he  said.  "I  go  round  der  corner  to  get  a  cup 
of  coffee." 

Over  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  glass  of  Kirschwasser, 
and  a  cigar  Lapidowitz  began  to  dream  dreams. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  ever 
experienced  the  wonderful  sensation  of  taking 
in  money  in  legitimate  trade,  and  no  merchant 
prince  ever  felt  prouder  after  selling  a  cargo 
of  goods  from  the  Indies  than  did  Lapidowitz 
over  his  first  transaction  on  Policeman  Garri- 
ty's  capital.  The  progressive  steps  of  the  ho- 
siery king's  rise  to  wealth  seemed  perfectly 
clear  to  him  now.  He  began  to  wonder  where 
he  would  open  his  store  after  the  push-cart 
business  became  too  big  for  him  to  handle  alone. 
He  soon  dropped  this  line  of  speculation,  how- 
ever, for  the  more  agreeable  one  of  his  mar- 
riage. For  it  would  be  necessary  to  get  mar- 
ried in  order  to  have  a  daughter  who  could  take 
private  piano  lessons. 

Meanwhile  Officer  Garrity,  patrolling  his 
Hester  Street  beat,  was  looking  for  the  tall  fig- 
ure of  his  partner  presiding  over  one  of  the 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  309 

push-carts,  and  saw  him  not.  Although  there 
was  but  little  traffic  in  the  mart,  every  pedlar 
was  at  his  stand  grimly  determined  to  let  no 
possible  customer  slip  by.  Only  one  stand 
seemed  to  lack  an  owner. 

"Who  owns  this  stand,  Greenspan!"  the  po- 
liceman asked  of  the  one-eyed  pedlar. 

Greenspan  grinned.  "Dot  schnorrer  Lapi- 
dowitz  has  gone  in  business,"  he  said.  "He 
hass  a  customer,  unt  now  he  iss  spending  der 
money  in  der  coffee-house." 

The  policeman  began  to  twirl  his  club  with 
considerable  rapidity,  but  gave  no  other  indi- 
cation of  the  nature  of  his  feelings.  "I'll  look 
for  him,"  he  said,  "but  before  I  go  I've  got  a 
word  for  your  ear,  Greenspan. ' ' 

He  whispered  in  the  pedlar's  ear  something 
that  astonished  Greenspan  considerably  and 
made  him  gaze  at  the  policeman  with  a  new  in- 
terest. 

"But  if  you  ever  open  your  mouth  about  it," 
the  policeman  added,  "life  in  New  York  won't 
be  worth  living." 

Greenspan's  assurance  of  profound  secrecy 
would  have  convinced  a  greater  sceptic  than 
Garrity.  The  policeman  went  to  the  coffee- 
house around  the  corner  and,  peering  into  the 


310          With  the  Best  Intention 

window,  espied  Lapidowitz  sitting  inside  dis- 
cussing the  prospects  of  business  with  the  pro- 
prietor. A  tap  upon  the  pane  attracted  the 
schnorrer's  attention,  and  he  came,  somewhat 
sheepishly,  to  the  door.  The  policeman's  club 
was  swinging  rapidly  and  somewhat  aimlessly. 
Just  as  Lapidowitz  emerged  from  the  doorway 
it  struck  out  so  smartly  upon  the  knee  that  he 
emitted  a  yell. 

"Oh,  did  I  hurt  ye!"  asked  the  policeman  in 
a  voice  of  solicitude,  and,  in  a  whisper,  added, 
"Ye  black- whiskered  gonif!  Is  that  what  I'm 
putting  up  me  money  for?  Get  back  to  the 
stand,  or  I  '11  run  ye  in ! ' ' 

Lapidowitz  hastened  back  to  his  push-cart 
and,  for  a  long  while,  rubbed  his  knee  and 
cursed  the  policeman.  Then,  growing  weary  of 
standing,  he  seated  himself  upon  the  curbstone, 
lit  a  cigarette,  and  began  to  speculate  as  to 
whether  he  would  take  up  muslins  or  not  when 
he  went  into  the  wholesale  business.  He  had 
ample  time  to  speculate  upon  that  problem,  for 
not  another  customer  came  to  his  stand  that 
day. 

He  had  bragged  so  much  to  his  friend  Milken 
about  his  certainty  of  becoming  rich  that  when 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  311 

he  went  to  Milken's  cafe  that  night  for  his  sup- 
per he  was  compelled  to  pay  cash.  The  con- 
sequence of  this  was  that  all  the  next  morning1 
Lapidowitz  was  filled  with  craving  for  an  extra 
cup  of  coffee.  He  had  had  a  hearty  breakfast, 
but  coffee  was  a  luxury  to  him — one  of  those 
luxuries  that  a  man  can  conveniently  put  off  for 
a  few  hours  if  he  has  money  in  his  pocket,  but 
which  becomes  a  violent  and  overwhelming  de- 
sire if  he  is  penniless.  Lapidowitz  never  re- 
membered a  time  when  he  wanted  a  cup  of 
coffee  more  than  he  did  at  that  moment.  Mil- 
ken's cafe  was  too  far  away,  and  in  the  little 
coffee-house  around  the  corner  he  had  not  yet 
established  a  basis  of  credit.  So  he  tried 
Greenspan. 

"It  will  make  two  dollars  and  ten  cents  that 
I  owe  you,"  he  said.  "I  left  all  my  money  in 
my  room." 

But  Greenspan  only  shook  his  head. 

"You  had  thirty  cents  yesterday,  and  you 
didn't  give  me  a  cent  on  account.  So  to-day  I 
don't  give  you  a  cent." 

Lapidowitz  turned  his  back  upon  the  one-eyed 
pedlar  and  silently  invoked  every  imprecation 
known  to  the  Torah,  the  Talmud,  and  the  Kab- 


312          With  the  Best  Intention 

bala  upon  his  head.  And  just  then  the  woman 
who  had  purchased  the  muslin  the  day  before 
returned  and  bought  two  yards  more. 

Lapidowitz's  spirits  promptly  rose. 

"Be  a  good  friend,"  he  said  to  Greenspan,  in 
a  wheedling  tone.  "Keep  your  eye  on  my 
stand,  and  if  Garrity  comes  along  tell  him  I 
went  to  the«drug-store  to  get  something  for  my 
headache.  I  have  a  terrible  headache." 

Patrolman  Garrity  was  chatting  amiably  with 
Mrs.  Kaminsky,  who,  since  the  day  when  the 
policeman  brought  home  her  little  Max  after  he 
had  lost  his  way,  had  been  his  stanch  friend. 

"And  sure,  Mrs.  Kaminsky,"  he  was  saying, 
"ye  look  so  fine  in  your  Sunday  clothes  you 
must  be  going  to  meet  your  beau.  I'll  have  to 
tell  Mr.  Kaminsky  about  it. ' ' 

"Such  foolishness!"  said  the  portly  matron. 
"I  only  go  down  by  Hester  Street  to  buy  some 
muslin  for  a  new  dress." 

"Muslin?"  said  Garrity,  immediately  inter- 
ested. "I've  got  a  friend  keeps  a  stand  there 
who's  got  the  finest  muslin  in  New  York. 
Come  along,  and  I'll  show  ye.  I'm  going  that 
way  myself." 

"If  he  iss  a  friend  vit'  you  I  buy  of  him," 
said  Mrs.  Kaminsky. 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  313 

As  they  approached  the  street-corner  where 
Lapidowitz's  push-cart  stood,  Policeman  Gar- 
rity  felt  a  sudden  misgiving.  The  lank  figure 
of  the  schnorrer  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Still, 
he  might  be  sitting  on  the  curb  behind  the  cart. 
When  they  reached  the  place  Garrity  even 
looked  under  the  cart. 

" Where's  Lapidowitz  ? "  he  asked  of  Green- 
span. 

"He  got  ten  cents  out  of  a  customer,  unt  he 
said  he  was  going  by  der  drug-store. ' '  A  one- 
eyed  man  cannot  wink  very  well,  but  there  was 
an  expression  upon  Greenspan's  countenance 
that  gave  the  policeman  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 
He  looked  in  every  direction  to  see  if,  perchance, 
his  roundsman  or  some  superior  officer  might 
be  in  sight.  The  coast  was  clear.  Garrity 
picked  up  a  piece  of  muslin. 

"There,  Mrs.  Kaminsky,  ain't  that  fine?  Or 
maybe  ye  like  the  green  stuff  better.  And  that 
yellow  piece  with  the  blue  dots  ain't  so  bad. 
You  pick  out  what  you  like,  and  as  soon  as  I 
find  me  friend  I'll  have  it  cut  off  and  brought 
around  to  you.  It  all  costs  five  cents  a  yard 
excepting  the  pink  one  over  yonder,  but  I'm 
thinking  the  pink  is  just  suited  to  yer  complex- 


314          With  the  Best  Intention 

ion.  Say,  Greenspan,  have  ye  any  idea  what 
that  loafer  charges  for  the  pink  stuff?" 

Greenspan  shook  his  head.  "I  only  know 
der  price  uf  fruits,  not  muslins,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Kaminsky  decided  to  take  ten  yards  of 
the  pink  roll,  and  the  policeman,  after  looking 
in  vain  for  Lapidowitz 's  yard-stick,  used  his 
own  night-stick  to  measure  the  muslin. 

"It's  lucky  I  know  the  length  of  me  club !"  he 
remarked,  with  a  grin.  Mrs.  Kaminsky  was 
filled  with  admiration  for  a  policeman  who 
would  take  so  much  trouble  to  oblige  a  friend, 
while  Greenspan's  countenance  betrayed  a  mix- 
ture of  expressions  that  no  psychologist  could 
have  analysed.  Policeman  Garrity  then  went 
to  the  coffee-house  around  the  comer.  There, 
as  he  had  expected,  sat  Lapidowitz,  with  his 
silk  hat  tilted  upon  the  back  of  his  head,  calmly 
sipping  his  coffee.  The  policeman  whistled, 
and  Lapidowitz,  with  a  sinking  heart,  came  out 
of  the  coffee-house.  His  suspicions,  however, 
quickly  vanished  at  the  sight  of  the  policeman's 
smiling  face. 

"Sh!"  said  Garrity.  "I've  got  something 
for  ye,  but  I  don't  want  anybody  to  see  me  give 
it  to  ye.  Step  into  the  hallway  here." 

Lapidowitz  accompanied  his  partner  into  an 


And  then  came  Friday,  the  gala  day  of  the  Ghetto,  and  business 
poured  in  with  a  rush 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  315 

adjoining  hallway  where  no  prying  eyes  could 
look  on.  An  instant  later  the  schnorrer  came 
flying  out  with  an  exclamation  that  sounded  like 
a  yelp  of  pain  and  ran  all  the  way  to  his  push- 
cart, where,  shortly  afterward,  Policeman  Gar- 
rity  found  him  rubbing  the  back  of  his  head. 
The  policeman  grinned. 

"Lapidowitz,"  he  said  genially,  "  friends  is 
friends,  but  partners  is  partners,  and  business 
is  business.  Remember  I  trust  ye !" 

For  the  next  few  days  Lapidowitz  remained 
true  to  his  trust.  Business  continued  poor, 
and  the  prospect  of  private  piano  lessons  for 
his  daughter  became  somewhat  dimmer.  Lapi- 
dowitz felt  that  he  would  be  content  with  a 
house  up-town.  He  was  even  willing  to  forego 
the  automobile.  And  then  came  Friday,  the 
gala  day  of  the  Ghetto,  and  business  poured  in 
with  a  rush.  All  day  long  customers  stood 
around  Lapidowitz's  stand,  and  his  hand  be- 
came weary  from  cutting  muslin;  but  he  was 
happy,  because  his  pockets  were  fairly  jingling 
with  money.  At  regular  intervals  Policeman 
Garrity  came  by  and  every  pedlar  had  to  move 
his  stand  a  few  feet,  excepting  Lapidowitz,  who 
felt  himself  above  the  law.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Lapidowitz  was  too  busy  to  move,  and  the 


316          With  the  Best  Intention 

approving  nod  that  greeted  him  whenever  he 
happened  to  catch  the  policeman's  eye  assured 
him  that  he  was  pursuing  the  proper  course. 
Toward  dusk  business  began  to  slack,  and  at 
about  the  same  time  Policeman  Garrity  disap- 
peared from  his  beat. 

Lapidowitz  began  to  count  his  money,  and, 
as  he  did  so,  a  feeling  of  foreboding  gradually 
settled  upon  him.  There  had  been  no  agree- 
ment as  to  the  financial  conduct  of  the  partner- 
ship, and  Lapidowitz  wondered  how  much  the 
policeman  intended  to  take  out  of  the  day's 
profits  to  reimburse  himself  for  the  cost  of  the 
stand.  Slowly  his  wonder  changed  to  a  sensa- 
tion of  dread.  To  provide  against  any  dire 
contingency  Lapidowitz  took  a  two-dollar  bill 
from  his  hoard  and  put  it  into  an  inside  coat 
pocket.  He  then  divided  his  money  into  two 
equal  parts,  placing  each  part  in  a  separate 
pocket.  As  he  jingled  these  two  pockets  and 
thought  of  the  violent  temper  of  his  partner 
he  became  distressed.  There  was  no  telling 
what  an  Irish  policeman  might  do.  After  care- 
fully pondering  over  all  the  possibilities  of  the 
situation  Lapidowitz  abstracted  a  dollar  from 
each  of  the  two  equal  shares  and  tucked  the 
money  into  his  shoe.  He  was  still  in  a  stoop- 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  317 

ing  posture  when,  looking  up,  he  beheld  Gar- 
rity,  in  civilian  dress,  approaching  the  stand. 

"Let's  call  it  a  day,"  said  the  policeman. 
"I'll  go  with  ye  to  the  stable." 

"Maybe  ve  better  go  around  der  corner  to 
der  coffee-house,"  suggested  Lapidowitz,  "unt 
fix  up  der  money." 

"Nix  on  the  coffee-house,"  said  Garrity. 
"We'll  go  to  the  stable." 

And  to  the  stable  they  went,  Lapidowitz 
pushing  the  cart  close  to  the  curb  and  the  po- 
liceman strolling  along  the  sidewalk,  chatting 
amiably  with  his  partner. 

"You  didn't  ask  yet  how  much  iss  it,"  said 
Lapidowitz,  smiling. 

"Don't  worry,"  answered  the  policeman. 
"I'll  find  out." 

The  smile  vanished  from  the  schnorrer  's  face. 
When  they  were  inside  the  stable  Garrity  shut 
and  locked  the  door. 

"Now,  me  boy,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "how 
much  did  ye  take  in?  No  monkey  business!" 

Lapidowitz  dived  into  his  pockets  and  pro- 
duced two  handfuls  of  money. 

"I  haf  divided  it  in  two  parts,  halluf  unt 
halluf,"  he  said.  The  policeman  took  both 
parts  and  carefully  counted  them.  Then,  de- 


318         With  the  Best  Intention 

positing  the  money  upon  the  floor,  he  held  Lapi- 
dowitz  by  the  arm  with  one  hand  while,  with 
the  other,  he  proceeded  to  investigate  the  con- 
tents of  Lapidowitz's  pockets.  The  sehnor- 
rer's  mouth  opened  wide,  but  between  fear  and 
rage  his  tongue  seemed  paralysed,  and  he  could 
not  utter  a  word.  Through  his  experience  in 
searching  the  pockets  of  prisoners  the  police- 
man had  acquired  considerable  dexterity,  and, 
to  Lapidowitz's  guilty  mind,  it  seemed  as  if 
some  unerring  instinct  were  guiding  his  hand 
toward  that  inside  coat  pocket.  Surely  enough 
Garrity  found  the  coat  pocket  and  found  the 
two  dollars  hidden  there.  He  threw  the  money 
upon  the  heap  on  the  floor,  winked  gravely  at 
Lapidowitz  and  proceeded  with  his  search. 

"Dot's  all!"  said  Lapidowitz  faintly. 

The  policeman  smiled. 

"I  forgot  about  dot  two  dollars,"  said  Lapi- 
dowitz. 

"Sure  ye  did!"  said  Garrity.  "Now  take 
yer  shoes  off,  and  let's  see  if  ye  forgot  any 
more." 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  the  policeman  appeal- 
ingly,  looked  around  the  stable  to  see  if  per- 
chance there  was  an  avenue  of  escape,  and  then, 


Lapidowitz 's  Partner  319 

with  a  heavy  sigh,  took  off  his  shoe  and  handed 
the  policeman  the  rest  of  the  money. 

Garrity  proceeded  to  count  the  proceeds  of 
the  day's  business  and  then  handed  Lapidowitz 
a  dollar. 

"Now,  partner,"  he  said,  quite  cheerfully, 
"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  dollar  a  day  to  keep 
you  going.  The  rest  of  the  money  I'll  hold 
until  the  push-cart  and  the  goods  are  paid  for. 
After  that  maybe  I'll  give  ye  a  little  more,  but 
I'm  going  to  be  banker  for  the  firm,  and  if  we're 
going  to  start  a  store  I'd  better  be  saving 
money  for  the  firm.  You  know  you  can  trust 
me,  and  I  guess  I  know  how  far  I  can  trust  you, 
but  the  man  who  got  the  best  of  Michael  Garrity 
doesn't  live."  Then,  clutching  Lapidowitz 
firmly  by  the  beard,  but  still  smiling,  he  hissed, 
" Beware,  Clarence  Lapidowitz!  Beware,  ye 
black-livered  spalpeen ! ' ' 

When  he  had  gone  Lapidowitz  almost  col- 
lapsed. The  schnorrer  had  never  before  heard 
such  a  fierce  warning,  nor  was  he  perfectly  clear 
as  to  its  meaning,  but  it  seemed  to  imply,  to 
him,  some  horrible  threat.  The  result  was 
that  during  the  next  week,  he  attended  consci- 
entiously to  his  push-cart,  and,  with  the  excep- 


320          With  the  Best  Intention 

tion  of  a  few  stolen  visits  to  the  coffee-house, 
did  nothing  to  incur  the  displeasure  of  his  part- 
ner. And  each  day  he  handed  him  the  exact 
proceeds  of  the  day's  sales,  deducting  only  what 
he  had  surreptitiously  spent  for  coffee  and  ci- 
gars and  Kirschwasser.  The  idea  of  private 
piano  lessons  for  his  daughter  he  gave  up  en- 
tirely. Nor  was  he  so  keen  on  the  house  up- 
town and  the  automobile  as  he  had  been  in  the 
beginning.  A  store  with  an  assistant  to  do  the 
work,  and,  perhaps,  a  tenement  or  two  down- 
town whose  rents  he  would  collect  himself,  com- 
prised the  sum  total  of  his  ambition.  And,  to 
this  end,  he  actually  worked  diligently  through- 
out the  first  five  days  of  the  week.  But  when 
Friday  came  again  and  business  grew  brisk  and 
the  money  seemed  to  pour  in  Lapidowitz  was 
unable  to  resist  temptation.  Toward  the  close 
of  the  day's  work  he  handed  five  dollars  to 
Greenspan. 

"I  ask  you  as  der  greatest  favour,"  he  said, 
imploringly,  "to  keep  dis  money  for  me  till  to- 
morrow. I  come  by  your  house  to  get  it.  Der 
money  iss  sacred,  holy  money  vot  belongs  to 
my  poor  sister  in  Eussia.  Tint  next  week  I 
guess  I  can  pay  you  der  two  dollars. ' ' 

The   one-eyed   pedlar  pocketed   the   money 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  321 

without  a  word.  Presently,  however,  "It  iss  a 
year  dot  you  owe  me  two  dollars,"  he  said. 

' '  I  know  it, ' '  replied  Lapidowitz.  *  *  Only  vun 
veek  you  got  to  wait. ' ' 

"A  veek?  V'y  should  I  vait  a  week  ven  I 
got  it  in  my  pocket?'*  retorted  Greenspan. 
Lapidowitz  felt  a  sinking  sensation  in  his  heart, 
and  af  that  moment  Garrity  came  in  sight,  in 
civilian  dress,  as  before. 

"Can  I  keep  der  two  dollars?"  asked  Green- 
span. 

1 '  Sh-h-h !    Don 't  talk  about  it  now. ' ' 

"But  can  I  keep  it?"  persisted  the  one-eyed 
pedlar.  Garrity  was  close  beside  them  now. 

"Yes.    Keep  it!"  hissed  Lapidowitz. 

Greenspan,  delighted  to  recover  his  money, 
drew  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket  and  counted 
out  three  dollars.  "Here  iss  der  change,"  he 
said,  handing  the  money  to  Lapidowitz.  If  a 
glance  could  have  annihilated  Greenspan,  his 
existence  would  have  come  to  an  end  at  that 
moment. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  Garrity,  who  was 
chewing  the  end  of  an  unlighted  cigar. 

"It's  for  his  poor  sister  in  Russia,"  explained 
Greenspan.  Lapidowitz's  face  was  a  study. 

"Better  take  it,  Lapidowitz,"  said  the  police- 


322          With  the  Best  Intention 

man,  good-naturedly.    "Take  everything  you 
can  get." 

Lapidowitz  pocketed  the  money. 

"What's  the  other  money  for?"  the  police- 
man then  asked.  "I  heard  you  saying,  'Here's 
the  change.'  " 

"He  gif  me  five  dollars,"  explained  Green- 
span glibly.  "But  he  owes  me  two  dollars,  so 
now  he  vants  to  pay  me  back." 

*  *  Oh,  I  see, ' '  said  Garrity,  scratching  his  chin. 
"Well,  you're  a  lucky  man  to  get  your  money 
back,  Greenspan.  Come  on,  Lapidowitz.  Let's 
close  up  shop  and  go  to  the  stable." 

On  the  way  to  the  stable  Lapidowitz  looked 
at  the  policeman  many  times  as  if  he  were  about 
to  speak  to  him,  but  the  grim  expression  of  Gar- 
rity's  countenance  froze  all  speech  on  Lapido- 
witz's  lips.  Arrived  at  the  stable,  the  police- 
man relieved  Lapidowitz  of  the  day's  receipts. 
He  then  made  him  take  his  shoes  off  and  his 
coat  and  vest,  and  these  he  carefully  searched, 
humming  the  while  a  merry  tune. 

"So  ye  tried  to  hold  out  on  me  again,"  he 
said,  quite  cheerfully.  Lapidowitz  was  too 
crestfallen  to  reply.  And  then,  with  the  swift- 
ness of  lightning,  the  policeman's  arm  shot  out, 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  323 

and  his  fist  landed  plump  upon  Lapidowitz's 
eye. 

"The  partnership's  off!"  was  all  he  said, 
and  hastened  out  of  the  stable. 

' '  Loafer ! ' '  cried  Lapidowitz.  '  *  I  tell  der  po- 
lice captain!  I  haf  you  locked  up  right 
away ! ' ' 

He  hastened  to  the  station  house  and,  point- 
ing to  his  discoloured  eye,  lodged  a  complaint 
against  the  policeman.  The  story  that  he  told 
amazed  the  captain. 

"Garrity  your  partner?"  he  cried.  "In  a 
push-cart ?  I  never  heard  the  like  of  it.  Lieu- 
tenant, send  around  for  Garrity.  He'll  be 
home  for  supper  about  this  time." 

Garrity,  the  picture  of  innocence,  came  in 
company  with  his  brother-in-law,  McCarthy. 

"What's  this  about  your  owning  a  push-cart 
stand?"  asked  the  captain. 

"Who?  Me?  Me  brother-in-law  McCarthy 
owns  one.  Not  me.  Why,  that  chap  there 
works  for  him!  Hello,  Lapidowitz!  Where 
did  ye  get  the  shiner?" 

It  was  all  said  in  a  tone  of  the  most  con- 
vincing innocence. 

"I  guess  he's  just  sore,  Captain,"  explained 


324          With  the  Best  Intention 

McCarthy,  "because  I  fired  him  to-night.  He 
was  holding  out  on  me.  I'm  thinking  of  get- 
ting out  a  warrant  for  his  arrest. 

Lapidowitz  began  to  feel  bewildered. 

"Were  there  any  witnesses  to  the  assault?" 
the  captain  asked.  Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him 
blankly.  ' l  Witnesses  ?  "  he  repeated,  in  a  dazed 
manner. 

"Yes.    Did  any  one  see  Garrity  hit  you?" 

"Me  hit  him?"  cried  Garrity.  "Why,  the 
man  must  be  crazy.  I  guess,  Mac" — this  to  his 
brother-in-law — "you'd  better  get  out  that  war- 
rant and  have  him  locked  up.  That  pedlar 
Greenspan  told  me  how  he  was  holding  out  on 
you."  Then,  swiftly,  he  turned  upon  Lapido- 
witz. "Do  you  mean  to  say  I  hit  you?"  he 
roared,  in  thunderous  tones.  Lapidowitz 
turned  pale.  "N-n-no!"  he  stammered. 

"I  guess  you'd  better  go  home,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

It  was  several  days  before  Lapidowitz  reap- 
peared in  Milken's  cafe  with  a  bluish-greenish- 
yellowish  eye  and  a  story  of  an  open  door  in  a 
dark  room. 

"I  hear  you  got  a  push-cart,"  said  Milken. 
"You  should  get  rich  by  it.  Dot's  how  Harris 
commenced,  unt  look  vot  he's  got  now!  A 


Lapidowitz's  Partner  325 

house  up-town  lint  tenements  unt  a  automobile, 
unt  his  daughter  gets  piano  lessons  private. " 

Lapidowitz  rose  and  strode  out  of  the  cafe, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 


XVI 
"Ich  Gebibble" 

WHOSOEVEE  lives  unmarried,  lives 
without  joy,  without  comfort,  without 
blessing ! 

So  sayeth  the  Talmud,  and  the  Talmud  ought 
to  know.  There  may  be  those  who  would  dis- 
pute this  proposition,  but  far  be  it  from  me  to 
be  among  them.  I  merely  transcribe  the 
events  as  they  happened. 

Mr.  Zabriskie  had  been  gathered  in  the 
bosom  of  Abraham,  and  his  widow  sat  in  the 
shop  of  Brodsky,  the  shoemaker,  wondering 
what  she  would  do  next.  Brodsky 's  shop  was 
in  the  basement,  and  the  widow  Zabriskie 
owned  the  house.  Mrs.  Zabriskie  did  all  her 
wondering  aloud. 

"A  woman  has  got  to  marry,"  she  said 
finally,  " that's  all  there  is  about  it!" 

Brodsky  patched  away  at  a  sole-and-heel  job. 

"I  know  I  ain't  young  any  more  and  I  ain't 
as  good-looking  as  I  used  to  be.  But  I  guess 
I'd  be  better  off  if  I  got  married  again." 

326 


'"Ich  Gebibble"  327 

Brodsky  took  a  peg  out  of  his  mouth  and 
hammered  it  into  the  shoe. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Samuels,  the 
schatchen  ? "  he  asked.  '  *  He  can'fix  it  for  you. ' ' 

Mrs.  Zabriskie  rose,  smoothed  the  folds  of 
her  dress,  and  started  for  the  door. 

"I  did!"  she  said.    "But  he's  so  busy." 

The  scene  changes.  (This  idea  of  changing 
scenes  is  one  of  the  consoling  makeshifts  of  lit- 
erature.) Samuels,  the  schatchen,  sat  in  Milk- 
en's cafe,  a  picture  of  prosperity.  His  shin- 
ing silk  hat  looked  prosperous,  his  pink  cheeks 
looked  prosperous,  his  clothes  looked  prosper- 
ous— his  diamond  ring  and  diamond  scarf-pin 
fairly  radiated  prosperity.  The  waiter  waited 
upon  him  as  a  waiter  waits  upon  a  prosperous 
man.  Then  Bernstein  entered  the  cafe  and,  with 
a  weary  air,  seated  himself  at  Samuel's  table. 
Bernstein  was  also  a  schatchen  but  not  a  pros- 
perous one.  Every  one  knew  that  Bernstein 
was,  by  far,  the  shrewder  of  the  two,  but 
whereas  Samuels  possessed  the  real  match- 
making faculty  and  could  talk  diffident  maid- 
ens and  reluctant  youths  into  taking  the  matri- 
monial plunge,  Bernstein's  arguments  never 
seemed  to  be  quite  as  eif  ective. 


328          With  the  Best  Intention 

1 1 How's  business!"  he  asked  Samuels.  The 
prosperous  schatchen  handed  him  a  ten-cent 
cigar,  lit  a  match  so  that  the  light  fell  upon  his 
diamond  ring  and  made  it  sparkle,  and  yawned 
a  wonderfully  prosperous  yawn. 

"I  have  so  much  to  do,"  he  replied,  "that  I 
don't  know  where  to  begin.  I  hardly  get  any 
sleep.  Everybody  wants  to  get  married,  and 
hardly  a  day  goes  by  without  my  making  three 
or  four  parties.  And  you  know  what  that 
means. ' ' 

Bernstein  sighed.  He  knew  what  that 
meant. 

"I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  he  said,  "but  I 
haven't  had  any  business  for  two  weeks.  It's 
funny  how  it  goes.  You're  busy  and  I  haven't 
a  thing  to  do." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  added, 
"If,  maybe,  you  got  any  case  you  don't  want — 
if  you're  too  busy — you  might  give  me  a 
chance. ' ' 

Samuels  nodded  good-naturedly  and  then 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  prosperously  and 
stared  prosperously  at  the  ceiling.  Suddenly 
he  began  to  smile. 

"I'll  tell  you  where  you  can  get  a  case,"  he 
said.  "That  Zabriskie  widow  wants  to  get 


"Ich  Gebibble"  329 

married  again.  She  came  to  me,  but,  you 
know!  Such  a  face!  And  she's  over  forty. 
But  she's  got  lots  of  money.  If  I  didn't  have 
so  much  business  I'd  see  what  I  could  do  for 
her,  but  I'd  be  afraid,  just  now,  to  send  any  of 
my  parties  to  see  her.  Maybe,  if  you  got  noth- 
ing else  to  do  you  could  find  a  party  for  her." 

Bernstein  grunted. 

"The  widow  Zabriskie!  Who'd  marry  her? 
Give  me  something  easier." 

Samuels  looked  at  his  watch,  yawned  pros- 
perously again  and  said  he  had  to  return  to 
his  work.  Bernstein  remained  sitting  alone 
until  he  saw  Lapidowitz,  the  schnorrer,  enter 
the  cafe. 

"  Hello,  Lapidowitz!"  he  cried.  "Let's 
play  a  game  of  cards. ' ' 

"Sure,"  said  Lapidowitz.  UI  got  nothing 
to  do." 

Lapidowitz,  by  the  way,  never  had  anything 
to  do.  They  played  for  nearly  an  hour  when 
Bernstein  suddenly  laid  down  his  cards  and 
stared  at  the  schnorrer. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Lapidowitz. 

"H'm!  I  got  an  idea!"  said  the  schatchen. 
"Will  you  wait  here  an  hour  until  I  come 
back?  Maybe  you  can  make  some  money." 


330          With  the  Best  Intention 

"I  will  wait  a  year  if  I  can  make  money," 
said  Lapidowitz. 

The  scene  changes. 

Mrs.  Zabriskie  answered  the  door-bell  her- 
self, and  Bernstein  gazed  at  her  critically,  and 
shuddered. 

"I'm  Bernstein,  the  schatchen,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"My  friend  Samuels  told  me  he  is  too  busy 
to  take  your  case  and  wants  me  to  take  it.  Of 
course  I'm  very  busy  myself,  but  I'm  always 
successful.  So  if  you  and  me  can  make  good 
arrangements  I  think  I  can  get  a  party  for 
you. ' ' 

"Come  inside!"  said  the  widow.  Bernstein 
listened  patiently  to  her  description  of  her 
good  qualities  and  her  estimate  of  her  desira- 
bility. When  she  had  finished  he  looked  her 
frankly  in  the  face. 

"Mrs.  Zabriskie,"  he  said,  "you  ain't  a 
young  chicken  and  I  ain't  a  young  chicken.  So 
let's  get  down  to  business.  If  you  was  a 
young  girl  I  'd  say,  '  Sure ! '  and  go  right  ahead. 
But  when  a  lady  is  past — er — thirty-five  (Mrs. 
Zabriskie  nodded  approvingly)  the  case  is  dif- 
ferent. A  schatchen  can  get  you  engaged  but 


"Ich  Gebibble"  331 

he  can't  make  a  man  marry  you.  It's  like  a 
liorse.  You  can  take  him  by  the  water  but  you 
can't  make  him  drink.  Now  if  I  get  you  a 
good,  nice-looking  party  who  will  get  engaged 
to  you  and  take  you  out  and  spend  a  lot  of  time 
with  you,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  do  the  rest 
yourself. ' ' 

''What  do  you  mean  by  the  rest!"  asked  the 
widow. 

"Oh,  make  him  marry  you  when  the  time 
comes.  You  see,  you're  one  of  those  ladies 
who  improve  on  acquaintance,  and  if  he  gets  to 
know  you  he's  sure  to  fall  in  love  with  you. 
Now  I'll  guarantee  that  my  party  will  stay  en- 
gaged to  you  for  two  months.  That  ought  to 
be  long  enough.  At  the  end  of  two  months  you 
give  me  two  hundred  dollars.  I  consider  that 
very  cheap.  If  you  can't  make  him  marry  you 
by  that  time  it  won't  be  my  fault.  So  what  do 
vou  say!" 

•s  •/ 

The  widow,  with  her  lips  pressed  tightly 
together,  nodded  her  head  a  great  many 
times. 

"I  guess  it's  good,"  said  she.  "Maybe 
after  two  months  I  don't  want  to  marry  him. 
But  if  I  do  I  guess  it  '11  be  all  right. ' ' 

The  contract  was  then  put  in  writing,  and 


332          With  the  Best  Intention 

both  signed  it,  after  which  the  widow  poured 
out  a  glass  of  Madeira  for  the  schatehen. 

The  scene  changes. 

Bernstein  found  Lapidowitz  playing  soli- 
taire. He  seated  himself  opposite  the  schnor- 
rer,  gazed  at  him  long  and  intently. 

1  i Listen,  Lapidowitz,'  said  he.  "I  have 
something  good  for  you.  Do  you  know  Mrs. 
Zabriskie?" 

"The  widow  who  owns  the  house  where 
Brodsky's  shoe  shop  is?" 

The  schatchen  nodded. 

"No.  I  don't  know  her  to  speak  to.  I've 
often  seen  her.  She's  homely!" 

"Do  you  think  she  knows  you  at  all?"  asked 
Bernstein. 

Lapidowitz  shook  his  head. 

"I  guess  not.  I  don't  think  she  ever  noticed 
me.  Why!" 

"Now  listen  to  me.  She  wants  me  to  get 
her  a  husband.  Sit  still!  Don't  get  up!  But 
I  told  her  it  was  a  hard  job  and  now  she's  sat- 
isfied if  I  get  her  a  party  who  becomes  engaged 
to  her  for  two  months.  She  thinks  by  the  end 
.of  that  time  she  could  make  a  man  fall  in  love 
with  her.  Now  here's  my  idea:  if  you  get  en- 


"Ick  Gebibble"  333 

gaged  to  her  for  two  months  I'll  give  you  fifty 
dollars!  D'ye  see?  If  you  marry  her  or  not 
— that's  none  of  my  business.  All  you  got  to 
do  is  to  get  engaged.  I'll  tell  her  you're  out  of 
work  so  if  she  wants  you  to  take  her  out  any- 
where she's  got  to  pay  everything  herself.  It 
won't  cost  you  a  cent.  You  never  made  fifty 
dollars  so  easy  in  all  your  life." 

Lapidowitz  pondered  over  the  matter  for 
several  minutes. 

" Couldn't  you  make  it  a  month?"  he  asked. 
"Two  months  is  such  a  long  time." 

"It's  got  to  be  two  months,"  said  Bernstein. 
"But  maybe,  once  in  a  while,  you  got  impor- 
tant business  in  Cincinnati  or  some  place,  and 
you  can  get  a  few  days  off." 

"It  ain't  a  bad  idea!"  said  Lapidowitz  re- 
flectively. "I  guess  I  take  it.  Only  I  couldn't 
go  without  a  new  silk  hat  and  a  nice  new  coat. ' ' 

"You  got  right,"  he  said.  "You  look 
shabby.  I'll  get  you  a  new  hat,  but  clothes 
cost  too  much.  I  got  a  frock  coat  home  what's 
as  good  as  new,  and  I  guess  it'll  fit  you  all 
right." 

As  soon  as  Lapidowitz  had  been  arrayed  in 
his  new  silk  hat  and  borrowed  coat  Bernstein 
took  him  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Zabriskie.  The 


334          With  the  Best  Intention 

widow  gazed  at  the  schnorrer  and  smiled. 
Lapidowitz  was  not  at  all  bad-looking,  and  his 
new  raiment  gave  him  quite  a  distinguished 
air.  When  the  widow  smiled,  however,  he 
clutched  Bernstein  by  the  coat  as  if  he  feared 
the  schatchen  were  about  to  run  off  and  leave 
him. 

"This,  Mrs.  Zabriskie,  is  my  friend  Lapido- 
witz. Ain't  he  a  fine  looking  man!  Of  course 
he's  hard  up,  but  that  don't  make  any  differ- 
ence to  a  rich  lady  like  you.  Some  day,  I  bet 
he'll  be  a  rich  man.  Now  you  can  both  shake 
hands  and  be  engaged  for  two  months.  I'll 
go  and  put  it  in  the  Yiddish  papers.  Ah,  Lap- 
idowitz, I  bet  you're  beginning  to  £all  in  love 
already!" 

He  shook  his  finger  roguishly  at  the  schnor- 
rer as  he  said  this,  and  Mrs.  Zabriskie  sim- 
pered like  a  young  girl.  Lapidowitz,  however, 
turned  red. 

"You  ain't  going  away  now,  are  you!"  he 
asked. 

"Sure!"  said  the  schatchen.  "I  leave  you 
two  to  get  acquainted,  and  besides,  people  who 
are  engaged  should  be  left  alone!" 

Lapidowitz  gazed  long  and  yearningly  at  the 
door  after  Bernstein  had  departed. 


"Ich  Gebibble"  335 

"Let's  go  down  to  the  basement,"  said  Mrs. 
Zabriskie.  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Brodsky.  He's  the  first  one  I  want  to  tell  that 
I'm  engaged." 

"Sure,"  said  Lapidowitz,  glad  of  a  chance 
to  introduce  a  third  person  into  the  situation. 
* '  I  know  Brodsky  well. ' ' 

Brodsky 's  countenance  did  not  change  a 
shade  when  the  news  was  broken  to  him.  He 
looked  at  the  widow  and  he  looked  at  Lapido- 
witz. Then  he  hammered  a  peg  into  a  shoe. 

"That's  good!"  he  said. 

The  scene  changes.  Bernstein  sat  in  Milk- 
en's cafe,  his  customary  lounging  place,  enter- 
ing in  his  note-book  an  item  of  four  dollars 
that  he  had  paid  for  Lapidowitz 's  new  silk  hat. 
He  also  made  an  entry  upon  another  page,  as 
if  it  were  a  tentative  matter,  of  fifty  dollars 
that  he  was  to  pay  to  Lapidowitz  at  the  end  of 
two  months.  In  Bernstein's  system  of  book- 
keeping there  was  always  a  sharp  division  be- 
tween money  that  had  actually  been  spent  and 
money  that  he  had  promised  to  spend.  A 
shadow  fell  across  his  note-book,  and  he  looked 
up  into  the  face  of  Lapidowitz. 

"You  didn't  stay  long!"  said  the  schatchen. 


336          With  the  Best  Intention 

"Long  enough!"  replied  Lapidowitz. 
"Now,  about  that  fifty  dollar  business.  I  wish 
you  would  give  me  a  note  for  it  so  I  can  collect 
it  in  two  months." 

"A  note?"  repeated  Bernstein.  "Ain't  my 
word  good?" 

"Sure  it  is!"  said  Lapidowitz.  "Only  a 
note  is  better.  If  I  don't  stay  engaged  for  two 
months,  of  course  you  don't  have  to  pay  the 
note.  But  if  I  keep  the  contract,  then  I  won't 
have  to  ask  you  for  the  money." 

Bernstein  attempted  to  argue  the  matter  but 
Lapidowitz  was  obdurate.  No  note,  no  en- 
gagement. Bernstein  gave  him  a  note  for  fifty 
dollars  payable  in  two  months. 

"We  go  to  the  theatre  to-morrow  night," 
said  Lapidowitz.  "Would  you  like  to  come 
along?  I  can  make  her  get  three  tickets." 

"I  can't!"  exclaimed  Bernstein  hastily.  "I 
never  go  to  theatre." 

"All  right,"  said  the  schnorrer.  "Only  one 
thing  I  nearly  forgot  to  tell  you.  If  you  ever 
see  us  together,  don't  make  any  more  foolish 
remarks  about  my  falling  in  love  with  her.  It 
gives  me  a  pain." 

After  the  theatre,  Lapidowitz  and  his  fian- 


"Ich  Gebibble"  337 

cee  supped  in  a  Grand  Street  restaurant. 
Lapidowitz  had  been  absorbed  in  the  play  and 
had  given  but  scant  attention  to  his  compan- 
ion. Now  as  they  sat  in  the  restaurant,  he  sud- 
denly took  her  hand  in  his  and  pressed  it  ten- 
derly. The  widow  beamed  upon  him. 

"You  know  what  Bernstein  said  about  my 
being  hard  up,  don't  you?"  he  asked.  Mrs. 
Zabriskie  nodded. 

"Well,  I  am!  I  ain't  got  a  cent.  Maybe  if 
you  could  spare  a  little  money — oh,  say  fifty 
dollars ! — as  soon  as  we  get  married  I  can  pay 
it  back." 

The  widow  opened  her  reticule  and  drew  out 
a  bundle  of  bank-notes  that  made  Lapidowitz 's 
heart  leap  with  joy.  With  great  care,  she  re- 
moved a  dollar  bill  from  the  roll  and  handed  it 
to  the  schnorrer  with  a  smile. 

"You  got  to  have  some  money,  anyhow,"  she 
said.  "You  don't  got  to  pay  it  back." 

"I  said  fifty!"  said  Lapidowitz,  gazing  at 
her  with  a  smile  that  was  meant  to  be  propiti- 
ating. 

"I  know  it,"  said  she.  "But  don't  be  fool- 
ish." 

Lapidowitz 's    lips    moved    in    silent    curses 


338          With  the  Best  Intention 

upon  all  women  in  general  and  the  widow  Za- 
briskie  in  particular.  He  began  to  weary  of 
his  engagement. 

The  next  day  he  found  Bernstein  at  his  cus- 
tomary table  in  Milken's  cafe. 

I  'I  guess  I  give  it  up!"  he  said. 

"What's  the  matter!"  asked  the  schat- 
chen. 

"I  ain't  got  a  cent,"  said  Lapidowitz.  "I 
got  to  have  five  dollars  a  week  to  live  on,  don't 
If  Well,  I  know  where  I  can  get  a  job.  So 
you  get  somebody  else  to  be  engaged  to  that 
stingy  old  fool." 

II  Can't  you  take  the  job  and  be  engaged,  too! 
It's  only  two  months.     And  you  get  fifty  dol- 
lars, you  know ! ' ' 

"Be  engaged  and  work,  too?"  exclaimed 
Lapidowitz.  "Huh!  Never!  If  I  work,  I 
work,  and  if  I'm  engaged,  I'm  engaged.  One 
thing  at  a  time. ' ' 

Bernstein  made  a  swift  mental  calculation. 
Eight  weeks  at  five  dollars  a  week  would  amount 
to  forty  dollars.  The  four  dollars  that  he  had 
paid  for  the  silk  hat  and  the  fifty  dollars  for 
which  he  had  given  a  note  would  bring  the  to- 
tal expense  of  providing  a  fiance  for  the  widow 
to  ninety-four  dollars.  That,  however,  would 


"Ich  Gebibble"  339 

still  leave  him  a  profit  of  one  hundred  and  six 
dollars,  which,  considering  that  it  involved  no 
labour  of  his  own,  was  not  so  bad. 

He  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  induce  Lapido- 
witz  to  accept  five  dollars  a  week  on  account  of 
the  fifty. 

"It  don't  cost  you  nothing,"  he  explained. 
"I  support  you  for  eight  weeks  by  giving  you 
five  dollars  every  week.  You  got  a  fine,  new 
silk  hat  out  of  me.  The  lady  will  take  you  to 
the  theatre  and  to  the  restaurants,  and  you  will 
have  a  good  time.  And,  in  the  end  you  will 
get  six  dollars  more." 

Lapidowitz  gazed  at  him  scornfully. 

"I  didn't  think,  Mr.  Bernstein,"  he  said, 
"that  I  was  doing  business  with  a  cheap  man. 
I  don't  get  any  profit  just  by  keeping  alive,  do 
I !  And  I  need  five  dollars  a  week  to  keep  me 
alive.  And  you  don't  think  I'd  get  engaged 
to  that  old  thing  for  six  dollars,  do  you!  I 
know  it's  a  fine  hat,  but — "  He  took  off  the 
hat  and  looked  at  it,  lovingly.  "I  needed  a 
new  hat,"  he  concluded. 

Bernstein  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  strug- 
gle. He  handed  him  five  dollars. 

"All  right,  Lapidowitz,"  he  said.  "You 
stick  to  the  engagement,  and  I'll  give  you  five 


340          With  the  Best  Intention 

dollars  every  week.  Only  I  think  you're  a 
loafer  and  a  thief." 

"What  you  think,"  said  Lapidowitz  airily, 
"don't  bother  me  at  all." 

For  four  weeks  Lapidowitz  remained  en- 
gaged to  the  Widow  Zabriskie.  For  four 
weeks  he  accompanied  her  everywhere  and, 
whenever  he  failed  to  find  an  excuse  for  avoid- 
ing it,  spent  the  evenings  in  her  parlour. 

Frequently  he  induced  the  widow  to  include 
Mr.  Brodsky,  the  shoemaker,  in  their  party, 
knowing  that,  with  Mr.  Brodsky  present,  the 
widow  would,  at  least,  refrain  from  holding  his 
hand  and  would  not  expect  any  tender  ad- 
vances from  him.  One  night,  however,  Mr. 
Brodsky  went  to  his  lodge,  and  Lapidowitz 
found  himself  alone  with  his  fiancee.  It  was  a 
rainy  night  and  it  seemed  to  Lapidowitz  that 
the  widow  felt  sentimental. 

"Just  think,"  she  exclaimed.  "In  one  more 
month  we  will  be  married ! ' ' 

Lapidowitz  felt  a  shudder  creep  down  his 
spine. 

"A  month,"  he  said  quickly,  "is  soon  gone. 
Let's  wait  a  while  before  we  begin  talking 
about  it." 


"Ich  Gebibble"  341 

"Where  will  we  go  on  our  honeymoon!"  she 
asked  coyly. 
"Honeymoon?"  repeated  Lapidowitz  blank- 

ly. 

"Sure!  When  you  get  married  you  got  to 
travel  somewhere  on  a  honeymoon.  When  I 
got  married  before  we  went  to  Niagara  Falls." 

"Oh,  I've  often  been  there,"  said  Lapido- 
witz. "I  got  a  better  place  in  mind.  But  we 
won't  talk  about  it  until  next  month.  I  got  to 
go  now.  I  got  a  friend  who  is  terrible  sick  and 
he's  all  alone.  He  hasn't  even  a  doctor.  So 
I  got  to  stay  with  him  to-night.  I'll  come  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

The  widow  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"You  got  such  a  good  heart!"  she  said. 
"You  can  kiss  me  if  you  want  to." 

Lapidowitz  stared  into  her  upturned  counte- 
nance, shut  his  eyes  and  kissed  her  upon  the 
cheek.  The  next  moment  he  fled  down  the 
stairs.  He  found  Bernstein  playing  cards  in 
Milken's  cafe  and  drew  him  aside. 

"She's  talking  about  getting  married,"  he 
said  gloomily. 

"Well,  what  of  it!  That's  in  the  agree- 
ment, ain't  it?  She  can  talk  about  anything 


342          With  the  Best  Intention 

she  likes,  can't  she?  You  don't  got  to  marry 
her.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  be  engaged  for 
four  weeks  more.  Didn't  I  told  you  that  a 
hundred  times?" 

1  'I  can't  do  it!"  said  Lapidowitz,  shaking  his 
head.  "I  just  can't  do  it.  She  made  me  kiss 
her  to-night.  Five  dollars  a  week  and  fifty 
dollars  for  the  whole  job  ain't  worth  it." 

Bernstein  felt  a  sinking  sensation  in  his 
heart. 

"Lapidowitz,"  he  said  earnestly,  "are  you  a 
gentleman  or  a  loafer?  Answer  me  once." 

Lapidowitz  grinned. 

"Last  time,"  he  answered,  "you  said  it 
yourself  I  was  a  loafer." 

Bernstein  realised  that  it  was  useless  to  ap- 
peal to  the  schnorrer's  finer  instincts,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  he  hadn't  any. 

"How  much?"  he  asked.  "Make  it  low  or 
you  don't  get  a  cent!" 

"Twenty-five  dollars,"  said  Lapidowitz 
glibly.  Bernstein  indulged  himself  in  the  lux- 
ury of  telling  Lapidowitz  clearly  and  forcibly 
and  luxuriantly  exactly  what  he  thought  of 
him.  Milken,  the  proprietor,  came  forward 
and  begged  him  to  moderate  his  language  and 
his  tone.  In  conclusion  Bernstein  offered  to 


"Ich  Gebibble"  343 

compromise  on  ten  dollars.  This  time,  how- 
ever, Lapidowitz  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Bernstein, "  he  said,  se- 
renely. "A  thief  I  am  and  a  bum  I  am  and  a 
dirty  dog  I  am  and  everything  else  what  you 
said,  I  am.  And  maybe  I  will  rot  in  my  grave 
like  you  say  and  maybe  I  won't.  But  I  take 
back  what  I  said  about  twenty-five  dollars  and 
if  I  don't  get  forty  on  the  spot,  you  and  your 
old  widow  and  your  engagement  business  can 
go  and  bust  up  in  the  air.  I  said  it  and,  what's 
more,  I  mean  it.  When  a  man  gets  insulted  he 
ought  to  get  paid.  Now  do  I  get  it  or  ain't 
it?" 

He  got  it!  It  took  but  a  moment's  thought 
for  the  schatchen  to  realise  that  unless  he  gave 
the  schnorrer  the  money,  he  would  lose  all  that 
he  had  hitherto  given  him.  He  apologised  for 
his  harsh  epithets,  he  appealed  to  Lapidowitz 's 
generosity  and  he  begged  him  to  stick  to  the 
original  twenty-five  that  he  had  demanded. 
But  Lapidowitz  stood  firm  and,  in  the  end,  re- 
ceived the  forty  dollars. 

"I  hope  it  learns  you  a  lesson!"  he  said  in 
parting. 

It  did.  It  taught  Bernstein  that  whenever 
the  schnorrer  came  to  him  for  money  he  had  to 


344          With  the  Best  Intention 

give  it.  If  the  engagement  were  broken  Bern- 
stein knew  he  would  lose  everything.  And 
gradually  his  investment  in  the  Widow  Zabris- 
kie's  engagement  grew  greater  and  greater. 
In  addition  to  the  silk  hat  and  the  five  dollars 
every  week  and  the  forty  dollars,  Lapidowitz 
borrowed  more  money  from  the  unfortunate 
schatchen.  One  day  it  was  a  new  shirt  that  he 
needed,  another  it  was  his  rent  and  then  again 
it  was  merely  because  he  hadn't  a  cent  and 
wanted  some  money  in  his  pocket. 

And  Bernstein  had  to  give.  At  the  end  of 
the  seventh  week  Lapidowitz  had  received  $150 
from  the  schatchen.  Of  course  most  of  it  was 
obtained  under  the  guise  of  a  loan,  but  Bern- 
stein had  a  perfectly  clear  idea  of  his  chances 
of  ever  being  repaid. 

In  the  meantime,  Lapidowitz  had  fulfilled  his 
part  of  the  contract  to  the  extent,  at  least,  of 
telling  all  the  Ghetto  that  he  was  engaged  to 
marry  the  Widow  Zabriskie,  of  calling  at  her 
house  nearly  every  day,  and  of  taking  her  to 
theatre,  to  the  restaurants,  and  for  drives 
through  Central  Park — the  cost  of  all  of  which 
was,  of  course,  defrayed  by  the  lady.  The 
widow,  herself,  seemed  perfectly  contented 
with  the  situation.  To  have  as  good-looking  a 


"Ich  Gebibble"  345 

chap  as  Lapidowitz  dangling  after  her,  to  be 
able  to  hold  his  hand  in  public  and,  occasion- 
ally, to  have  him  bestow  a  kiss  upon  her, 
seemed  to  be  all  that  she  desired.  At  the  end 
of  the  seventh  week  she  celebrated  her  birth- 
day. It  was  her  fortieth,  she  said. 

"It's  a  joke,"  said  Lapidowitz. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  that  old?"  asked  Mrs. 
Zabriskie,  coyly.  Lapidowitz  gazed  upon  her 
countenance  and  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile. 
The  widow  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  you  flatterer!"  she  cried,  and  kissed 
him  roundly  a  half  dozen  times.  But  she 
would  not  lend  him  more  than  a  dollar  upon  the 
strength  of  it.  Lapidowitz  sought  Bernstein 
in  Milken's  cafe. 

"Say,"  he  began,  drawing  a  note-book  from 
his  pocket.  "I  wrote  down  the  number  of 
times  she  kissed  me.  It's  sixteen.  We  didn't 
make  any  bargain  about  this  kissing  business, 
and  if  I  don't  get  a  dollar  for  every  kiss,  I 
chuck  up  the  job." 

Bernstein  almost  choked. 

"Listen,  Lapidowitz,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"You  got  me  in  a  tight  place.  I  know  you're 
a — a — oh,  never  mind !  You  know  it  as  well  as 
I  do."  Lapidowitz  nodded.  "Now,  I  swear 


346          With  the  Best  Intention 

on  my  father's,  grave  all  I  get  out  of  this  job 
is  two  hundred  dollars.  You  got  already  a 
hundred  and  fifty.  Next  week  you  get  five  dol- 
lars because  I  promised  it.  That  makes  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty-five.  Now  if  I  give  you  sixteen 
more,  it  makes  a  hundred  and  seventy-one. 
And  I  only  get  twenty-nine  dollars  profit  out  of 
the  whole  job.  Is  that  fair?  Is  it  honest?  Be- 
tween man  and  man,  I  ask  you,  ain't  it  a  dirty 
trick?" 

Lapidowitz  stroked  his  beard  long  and 
thoughtfully.  Then  he  drew  a  pencil  from  his 
pocket  and  began  to  figure  in  his  note-book. 

"Mr.  Bernstein,"  he  said,  finally,  "you  have 
been  honest  with  me.  I'll  be  honest  with  you. 
Twenty-nine  dollars  is  too  much.  Maybe  you 
don't  think  so,  but  you  ain't  engaged  to  that 
widow.  You  give  me  the  sixteen  dollars  for 
the  kisses.  Then  you  give  me  nineteen  dollars 
more,  and  you  don't  have  to  give  me  the  five 
dollars  next  week.  That  will  leave  you  twenty 
dollars  profit.  That's  enough.  You  didn't 
have  to  do  any  of  the  work.  I  did  it  all  and  if 
you  don't  believe  it — say,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  You  go  around  and  kiss  her,  and  I'll  take 
five  dollars  off.  You  told  me  I  was  a  bum  and 
a  thief  and  a  loafer  and  a  crook  and  a  liar  and 


"Ick  Gebibble"  347 

everything  else,  but  if  you  don't  like  it,  you 
don't  got  to  give  me  a  cent.  I'll  give  it  up 
right  away. ' ' 

Bernstein  groaned  and  glared  at  Lapidowitz 
with  an  expression  that  made  the  schnorrer 
add  hastily,  ''Wait,  before  you  speak.  If  you 
get  fresh  I  give  up  my  job  right  now." 

He  won  his  point.  Bernstein  carefully  went 
over  the  figures  and  then  handed  Lapidowitz 
thirty-five  dollars.  As  the  schnorrer  left  the 
cafe  Bernstein  turned  to  Milken,  the  proprie- 
tor. 

"Next  week,"  he  said,  "a  business  matter 
between  me  and  Mr.  Lapidowitz  will  be  fin- 
ished. And  then  the  first  thing  I'm  going  to 
do  is  to  give  that  schnorrer  such  a  punch  in  the 
nose  as  he  never  had  in  his  life. ' ' 

The  scene  changes — and  the  time.  The  two 
months  had  elapsed.  Lapidowitz  having  care- 
fully framed  the  sentences  in  which  he  intended 
to  tell  the  widow  that  he  had  changed  his  mind 
about  marrying  her,  rang  the  bell  of  her  apart- 
ment. A  slatternly  woman  came  to  the  door. 

"It's  Mr.  Lapidowitz,  ain't  it?"  she  in- 
quired. Lapidowitz  admitted  his  identity. 

"Here's  a  letter  for  you.    Mrs.  Zabriskie 


348          With  the  Best  Intention 

had  to  go  away,  and  she  told  me  to  give  it  to 
you." 

"Dear,  dear  Mr.  Lapidowitz,"  it  ran,  "I  am 
sorry  if  I  break  your  heart,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
I  discovered  that  I  loved  Mr.  Brodsky  better 
than  my  own  life,  so  we  have  gone  off  and  got 
married.  We  are  going  on  a  honeymoon  to 
Niagara  Falls,  and  I  hope  when  I  come  back 
you  will  forgive  me.  I  know  you  loved  me,  but 
who  can  help  what  the  heart  does?  If  you  see 
Mr.  Bernstein  tell  him  I  have  sent  him  a  check 
and  I  am  much  obliged  to  him.  I  know  you 
will  be  unhappy,  but  some  day,  maybe,  you  will 
get  over  it." 

Lapidowitz  walked  off,  frowning.  Strange 
to  say,  it  was  a  cruel  blow  to  his  pride.  But 
soon  his  brow  cleared,  and  he  began  to  smile. 
He  was  thinking  of  Bernstein,  the  schatchen. 
"Ich  gebibble,"  he  chuckled. 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REuu 


ID 


0*1        MAY  2  2  1972 


form  L9— Series  444 


?"*1-  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


110546     9 


